


when will i lose you?

by floodonthefloor



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (announcer voice) There Will Be Smut, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Clexa, Doctor Lexa (The 100), Endgame Clarke Griffin/Lexa, F/F, Paramedic Clarke Griffin, Slow Burn Clarke Griffin/Lexa, and also its not greys anatomy, and also theyre very horny all the time duh, and i gave up on clexa for a long time after 307, angsty but with a happy ending duh!!!!!!!!, but its still dramatic in a hospital way, but like...emotionally a slow burn, but now im back on my clexa bullshit so!, look this is mostly pwp right now but let me have this, so i had no idea what to apply the idea to, strangers to lovers to strangers to lovers...basically, think greys anatomy but with like a third of the drama, this is an idea i had a long while ago, tropes? absolutely! how dare you even ask.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 51,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22806745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floodonthefloor/pseuds/floodonthefloor
Summary: Clarke Griffin: a talented paramedic at the Ark Hospital.Dr. Lexa Woods, MD: a young but prodigal surgeon dedicated to the Ark Hospital ER.Both with their demons that come with the job; both with personal losses that they fear they'll carry on their shoulders forever; both with an almost unbearable need for love and comfort; both unwilling to admit this about themselves.ORParamedic Clarke and ER surgeon Lexa meet after a chance encounter with a mutual patient. The connection is palpable, physical, instant, but they've both sworn off relationships because of the nature of their careers and painful pasts.They can keep it casual.Right?
Relationships: Clarke Griffin & Lexa, Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Lexa - Relationship
Comments: 191
Kudos: 865





	1. Clarke

“It just doesn’t make any sense. This game is complete bullshit.”

Clarke Griffin sinks back in her seat as the rest of her team laughs at her around the table - it’s been a quiet December evening in Station A at the Ark Hospital Dispatch Unit, and they’ve just started up a game of Yahtzee, which Clarke is losing quite badly. 

_(Very badly.)_

Bellamy Blake, his sister Octavia, Raven Reyes, Jasper Jordan and Monty Green are all suppressing laughter around her as her ears go red with frustration and embarrassment.

They've been a unit for almost two years now, some new, some seasoned, but all an incredibly talented, efficient group regardless, swamping other units' call answer rate and response rate by an almost laughable amount. They work like a machine all together, all with their unspoken but static roles.

Bellamy and Clarke take the lead on most cases, often butting heads but ultimately being the best co-captains any of the dispatch units have seen, especially in their young age; communicative, certain of each others' decisions (sometimes), confident. Raven is the best dispatch driver of all of them, with an incredible amount of technical medical training and the ability to stay frighteningly calm in any situation. Octavia, with all her grit and determination, is the youngest, newest addition to the team and works the hardest - though Clarke has a feeling part of her is constantly trying to prove that she's not just _Bellamy Blake's sister._ Monty and Jasper are more like administrative lackeys, faithfully logging and writing up reports while providing comedic relief for the team. 

“Shouldn’t have taken the full house so soon,” Raven says, snickering as she rolls the die. “How are you so bad at this?”

"It’s all luck!” Clarke retorts. “There is _literally_ no way I could roll the dice so that it goes my way. I don't control gravity, and -”

As she speaks, Raven rolls a high point large straight and quirks an eyebrow, looking smugly up at Clarke, who swears loudly as the team around her laughs delightfully.

Bellamy gently punches Clarke's shoulder. “Lucky you’re a paramedic and not a professional gambler,” he says, reaching over the table to take the die from Raven for his turn.

Clarke doesn’t get a snappy response out before the station alarm starts ringing, red lights swirling in the corners of the room.

(She vaguely wonders to herself if they'll ever come up with a less startling way to announce an emergency. She's never gotten used to it. _Maybe that's the point._ )

The team is up in an instant, all banter diffusing itself immediately, and they make their way to the lockers. The operator’s voice sounds over the intercom.

_"Station A: Code one. Priority one. 2D1. Corner of Hastings and Mill Street. Fire crew en route."_

_Urgent job, lights and siren, road traffic accident_ , Clarke recites internally, putting the Ark paramedic jacket on and lightly jogging to one of the vehicles. “We’ll need to take a second," she yells behind her back. "Bellamy, drive behind us. Jasper, Monty, stay at the station until called for backup.”

She doesn't ever have to check to make sure everyone's heard her; all of this is instinctual, impulse-driven, reactionary. The slightest misunderstanding could mean disaster, so everyone has learned how to listen the first time around, and to listen well. 

Octavia follows Bellamy into the second truck, Clarke leaping into the passenger seat of Raven's vehicle, slamming the door shut and nodding when she's buckled and ready to go.

“Game’s not over yet,” Raven says, starting up the engine and sirens. Clarke shakes her head, chuckling lightly. Raven's got a way of immediately diffusing stressful situations (which, as a paramedic, is literally _always_ ) and grounding Clarke, consistently reminding her of what this job is: a job. 

“As if I'm playing it ever again. I'm burning it in the trash can once we're back."

*

They get to the scene in minutes, and it’s a loud, crowded, smoke-filled disaster. A pickup truck has apparently t-boned a small sedan, and the sedan has flipped over a few metres away. As usual, the fire crew is already there and have successfully extracted the two men involved in the accident, and the police have begun cordoning off the area. Bystanders are craning their necks to see what's going on.

Another thing Clarke never gets used to: bystanders. The bystander effect. The almost contradicting looks of helplessness and curiosity in each person's eyes as they lift their phones to take photos, murmur to one another. Clarke always feels a vague twinge of envy when she sees them; they have the liberty of taking a few photos, texting their friends " _Holy shit, just saw the craziest accident. Anyway, I'm going to be late, be there in 10_ ", and moving on. It's a stark contrast between that and what Clarke evaluates in the accident. Shattered glass and shrapnel serve as a reminder to her that whoever is in these vehicles, their lives have been changed forever. They don't get to say " _be there in 10_ " right now. 

These are the flurry of thoughts within the first 5 seconds after her feet are on the ground before her and Raven are quickly walking towards one of the firemen with their gurney. Bellamy and Octavia are already by the pickup truck. They're pulling the gurney currently holding the driver, who is clearly in shock as blood runs down his face, but he looks awake and alert.

“What do we have?” Clarke says as two firemen start loading the sedan driver, very obviously the worst off of the two, onto Clarke and Raven's gurney. He's covered in sticky, thick blood, his mouth slightly open, eyes rolling around wildly as though they can't find a single thing to focus on. His breathing is ragged, broken.

“Major head contusions. Broken ribs, another contusion below his left ventral, he's bleeding out. We’re most worried about his head - he's showing signs of internal hemorrhaging. License says his name's Atom Jenkins, age 24.” the fireman says promptly, handing Clarke the vic's wallet. “Erratic heartbeats as well. We've stabilized him where we can.”

“Atom. Thanks.” Clarke pockets the wallet and lets Raven secure Atom into their truck before trading spots, Raven getting into the drivers seat and Clarke closing the ambulance doors behind her, bolting it shut and yelling " _Good to go_ " to Raven, who starts driving away immediately, Bellamy and Octavia having already left for the emergency room. 

She starts taking his blood pressure, hooking him up to the heart monitor, staunching the bleeding from his head with a gauze pad. None of it looks good. She starts breathing deep, in and out, in and out, _everything will be ok,_ as she starts applying pressure to a deep cut just below his ribs. 

Suddenly, he's speaking, grabbing onto Clarke's arm with a vice grip. 

“You can’t let me die,” he wheezes.

Clarke nods, going through the standard motions. "You've got to lie back, don't move. Do you know where you are? Do you know what your name is?"

"My name is -" a cough, blood spattering over his clothes, "Atom, I'm - I'm home, I'm going home -"

Clarke works away, nodding, trying to keep him awake and talking to her while they get to the hospital. She quickly thinks of more questions to ask him and distract him while she examines the rest of his body. "How do you spell that?"

"A-T-O-M," he gasps, "Atom, molecule, like science - I'm home, it's time to go home, mom, please stop hurting me -"

He's severely disoriented. He looks scared, like a small boy.

He's young. So young.

"Okay, Atom, what hurts? What am I hurting?" she says, looking up to check his blood pressure, back at his rib wound, which has already started bleeding through the bandage. He's hemorrhaging, but she remains stone-faced, knowing it's absolutely essential for her to not cause any more panic within her patient. 

“Family. My mom, you're hurting her. You can't let me die. I'm dying. Don't let me die," he gasps, his eyes rolling up into his head before closing. 

"Shit," Clarke mutters underneath her breath, watching his blood pressure plummet on the screen and his body temperature beginning to crawl down.

"Atom?" she calls his name, loud, squeezing his shoulder. "Atom, keep your eyes open, we're almost at the hospital, stay with me here."

He doesn't answer, the blood pressure monitor beeping incessantly in her ear. "He's going into hypovolemic shock," she calls over to Raven, who is currently weaving through stopped traffic as though she's driving down a normal highway in a normal car and not in a large vehicle hurdling 80 miles an hour down the streets. "What's our ETA?"

"Now," Raven yells, slowing to a halt. 

They get to the hospital and Clarke bursts through the ambulance doors, rapidly filling the responders already there as they take Atom in. "Hypovolemic shock, 40 systolic, 50 diastolic, contusions on his head and a severe one below his ribs, possible spinal cord damage."

"Got it from here," the emergency responder says promptly, barking orders at the nurses and residents waiting at the doors to take him in.

Raven turns her sirens off. 

It's hard to get used to the silence after an emergency response. It's deafening. She sits on the curb, breathing deeply like her Ark-assigned therapist taught her, and closes her eyes, allowing the adrenaline to pass through her body before she even attempts to go back to the truck and speak to Raven. She checks her watch, counting her breaths. Her shift is over in about twenty minutes - but she doesn't let her body recognize that. If being a paramedic has taught her anything, it's that sometimes, your shift isn't over in twenty minutes.

Raven walks over to Clarke, sitting beside her, letting out a large exhale. “You can get washed and go home,” she says gently. “The next rotation is already here and ready to go.”

Clarke's eyes are closed now, facing the ground, and she nods. "I kind of want to stick around to see if he ends up okay. He's just twenty-four."

"It wasn't looking good," Raven says grimly. "I wouldn't bother."

Claire shakes her head, and scoffs, looking up at the sky. “Fuck. Should have become a lawyer.”

 _Should have become a lawyer_ is a common phrase shared between Raven and Clarke, an inside joke. Raven chuckles.

"Then you wouldn't have met me." Raven stands. "I'll see you tomorrow, Griffin. 'Night."

"'Night," Clarke says. She watches Raven hop into the ambulance and pull away to park it at the station before she heads home.

Clarke stands, stretches, and ambles into the bathroom of the back staff room at the ER to wash her hands, splash cold water over her face, and she's nodding polite good-nights to the shift staff working in the triage. She walks over to the courtyard, pulling out her pack of Marlboros and lighting a cigarette, and checks her phone. It's almost three in the morning. There are a few messages from her friends, one from her mother, and one from Niylah, a girl she's been casually sleeping with on and off for the past few weeks.

**Niylah** _Hey. You still coming over tonight after your shift?_

Clarke has absolutely no will or energy to see her tonight.

**Clarke** _No, don't think so. Tough day. Gonna go home and sleep._

**Niylah** _Alright. Sorry to hear it. Night_

The lack of emotion in the response bothers Clarke, but not really. It's the same story each time; she has a few rounds with a person she met off Tinder or at a bar somewhere, they never stay over, and either the person starts having feelings for Clarke or Clarke gets bored of them. 

But she wonders if she would feel better if Niylah had asked her what happened, if she's okay, if she just wants to come over anyway for some comfort food and quiet cuddling before drifting off to sleep. She thinks of the last time she had someone like that, Finn, such a rock, so dependable, and immediately shuts off that thought. She bitterly thinks to herself how much better he is without her.

Clarke sits on a bench and puts her phone away, continuing to smoke, looking up at the stars, until she's lightly startled by the sound of footsteps behind her. She looks back to see a rather pretty young brunette woman in a lab coat and scrubs, her hair up in a tight ponytail, looking slightly distraught but otherwise weary. The woman lights a cigarette of her own. A lab assistant, maybe - she doesn't look quite old enough to be a doctor, but Clarke can never really tell. The woman's face looks aged in a way that doesn't show on her face, but in her eyes, the way she carries herself as though she has the weight of the world on her shoulders.

"Rough night?" Clarke says, facing forward again and leaning back on the bench, taking a drag of her cigarette. She pulls her Ark paramedic jacket lapels together, zipping it up and shivering slightly. She doesn't really have an intention of starting up a dialogue with the woman - she's too tired, still not quite down from the last job, but she knows the social customs of the hospital; small talk is nothing new to her. You see someone who works at Ark Hospital, you say hi, how are you, and move on. It's a part of the job, just like putting on the jacket when the alarm sounds and rushing to your ambulance.

Clarke is mildly surprised, perhaps a tiny bit perturbed at the disturbance of her alone time, when the woman takes a seat on the opposite side of the bench, beside Clarke, looking down at the ground. “You could say that," the woman says. "A couple of tough ones today.” She takes a long hard draw and blows out. “You know how it can be.”

Clarke looks over at the woman, who looks right back at her. There are Christmas lights in the courtyard and there’s a slight red hue outlining the woman's face and the slope of her nose, and she watches the smoke escape from full, parted lips. She's quite beautiful, Clarke thinks to herself again. She’s seen her somewhere, but she can’t put her finger on where.

The woman speaks again, nodding at Clarke's Ark Paramedic jacket. "Just finished your shift?"

Clarke nods. “Yeah. You?"

The brunette shakes her head. "Just taking a breather before the next inevitable vic lands on my table," she says, gesturing to the cigarette in her hand.

Clarke raises her eyebrows in shock, staring at the woman. _My table? She's a surgeon?_

The woman tilts her head to the side, curious at Clarke's sudden change in expression. "What?"

"Yeah. Sorry - I just - you're a surgeon? " Clarke lets out a light chuckle shaking her head. “God, I sound like most men I encounter on the job, but you seem young to be a surgeon.” She extends a hand to the woman. "I'm Clarke Griffin, I'm in Unit A in Ark Dispatch over there," she says. "Wish we could have met under different circumstances, but it’s nice to meet you nonetheless.”

The woman takes her hand, her fingers surprisingly warm despite the bitter cold outside, laughing. “Yeah, I get that a lot. Either that or _I want to speak to a doctor, not a nurse._ I'm Dr. Lexa Woods. But you can call me doctor," she adds on jokingly.

Clarke can't really help the laugh that comes out of her mouth again, and she's surprised at herself - she hasn't ever laughed after a shift like that. Not once. The smile on her face fades as she remembers the evening again, though she welcomes the slight reprieve given to her by the young doctor.

She can see Lexa still glancing at her. "Rough night?" she echoes Clarke's initial question, and the corner of Clarke's lips curve up in a smirk.

Clarke clears her throat, flicking the ashes off the end of her smoke. "Yeah. It started off as one of those uneventful ones, right up until the just absolutely fucked car accident on Hastings this evening, I’m sure you’ve heard about it. Pick-up truck t-boning a sedan maybe half its size. It was dreadful.” Clarke shakes her head, looking back up at the sky. 

"A pick-up truck? No wonder..." Lexa, taking a few more quick draws of her cigarette. “You brought him in? I’m sorry, but he didn’t … there was a lot of blood lost, you know? We did our best, but my team had to call it a few minutes after he was put on my table. I actually just learned that the pick-up truck driver was drunk, didn't even hit the brakes until after he'd hit the sedan. Hit him full speed."

Clarke looks over to see Lexa shake her head, a sympathetic look on her face. She's surprised, at first, that Lexa happens to have been the one to close out the case Clarke essentially started, and then suddenly feels comforted by being beside someone who's having a shared experience. Of course, her teammates share experiences, but they rarely talk about them until their monthly roundups (where they all sit in a circle at Clarke's apartment, drink wine and cry about their losses that month).

 _Drunk driver._ A sense of dread starts filling her stomach. _Atom_ _was just on his way to see his mom._ "Fuck," she mutters under her breath. It’s impossible to never feel guilt when it comes to a victim passing away, especially one that was alive when they were first brought into the ER. Clarke is usually always the one sitting in the back with the vic, trying to keep them alive as hard as she can until they reach the hospital, and she’s been the person who hears someone’s last words more times than she can count. Were Atom’s last words “ _My mom, you're hurting her. You can't let me die. I'm dying. Don't let me die_ ”? Who is his mom? What could Clarke have done differently that would have prevented his death?

But then she remembers - more, _has to remember -_ that it was not her behind the wheel of the pickup truck, way over the legal drinking and driving limit. Dread turns to anger. There are far too many drunk accidents that she’s called to, so many that she’s always the first to make sure anyone who’s drinking at an event she’s at is not in immediate proximity of their car keys. 

“This job…” she takes a drag from her cigarette, blows it out, looks down at her feet. “I went into it wanting to save lives. Part of me always forgets that saving lives also means losing some. It never feels easier."

“Yeah," Lexa murmurs in assent. I always wonder if there could have been _more_ , but –” Another draw. “This job would be beyond impossible if I was to constantly dwell on the what-ifs.”

With a shrug and sigh, Lexa stubs out her cigarette, crushing it into the ground with her foot. “Perhaps that’s insensitive of me, I’m sorry. I spend so much time rationalizing the shitty parts of this job."

Suddenly, there's an abrupt beeping noise coming from Lexa, and Clarke watches as she shifts her coat aside to look at her pager, seemingly unperturbed. "Such as right now, and having to leave a good chat with a pretty paramedic," she says, not looking at Clarke, and Clarke swears she sees a slight blush on the doctor's face as she rises from the bench.

_Is she....flirting with me?_

Clarke's still sitting quietly, mouth slightly agape, before she shakes her head, getting it together and chuckling lightly. "Yeah, way to leave me hanging, doc. Unless you're not talking about me," she says, grinning at the other woman. 

"It was nice to meet you, Clarke," Lexa says, not answering Clarke's remark, lightly placing a hand on her shoulder as she walks away.

"Nice to meet you too," Clarke says, confused and a little flustered, before realizing Lexa is leaving and Clarke hasn't even gotten her contact info or _anything._ "Hey, wait -"

She stands and turns to find that the doctor is already gone.

"Shit."

* * *

**3 Years Ago**

"You're serious? It's Christmas."

Finn is holding what is clearly a wrapped Christmas gift for Clarke as she rushes around their apartment, gathering her keys and Ark Paramedic jacket. She's just received a page, AHOD: ALL HANDS ON DECK - all of the units are overloaded and need all the help they can get. She sighs when Finn speaks. 

"Are you going to lose your job if you don't go?" Finn's voice is suddenly sharp, angry, an almost sickening contrast compared to the joyful Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack playing in the background.

Clarke stops in her tracks. "What?" Their dog, a large, bumbling Bernese Mountain Dog named Toby whines in the corner. "Toby, shh. Finn, I'm sorry, they need me, I don't know what to tell you-"

Finn clenches his jaw. Clarke suppresses the urge to roll her eyes, knowing what's coming next. This happens any time she's called away to work while they're together. It's happened more times than she can count. They've been together for almost five years now, and this is Clarke's second year on the job; she's still technically a junior in Unit C, the youngest amongst a group of 40 to 50-something year-olds. Not going when AHOD is called is not an option. Not for her. Not right now.

Finn repeats himself, slowly, still clenching his teeth. "Are you...going to...lose your job...if you don't go."

"I don't know what you're -"

"Because unless you're getting fired if you don't go, it's over between us."

The words hang heavy between them and Clarke gapes at her boyfriend.

"You can't be serious."

"Answer the question." Finn all but throws the Christmas gift box on the kitchen counter. "Answer the _fucking_ question. You act as though this job is life or death -"

"Wh- it literally _is!_ " Clarke is starting to raise her voice, and Finn raises his hands and closes his eyes, indicating that he needs silence.

"You act as though this job is life or death for _you,_ " he says, running his hand through his hair. Clarke is starting to feel sick. "I got it at first. New job. You needed to prove yourself. I got it the first year when you missed my birthday, Christmas, my mom's birthday, when you left me at the dinner table with your mom and Marcus on your mom's birthday. I got it when you missed -"

"Land the plane, Finn," Clarke snaps, half of her feeling sinking anxiety at the thought of Finn actually leaving her, half of her wanting him to just get to the fucking point so that she can leave.

"I've had _enough_. Miller's boyfriend is a paramedic at Ark, you know this, and Miller told me recently that the all hands on deck calls aren't critical, that every single time, there's always more than enough people coming in for the call. They haven't had to do a second subsequent AHOD call in years, he says. He says his boyfriend misses every second one, that's their deal, and most of the time, he misses more than that, and it's always fine. Did you know that, Clarke?"

Clarke's heart feels like it's pounding directly in her ears, it's split in two and pounding in each ear, she's having trouble fully understanding words. All she knows is that Finn is correct, Miller's boyfriend is correct. She irrationally feels anger at Miller for telling Finn any of this. "I-"

"What am I doing wrong, Clarke?" Finn says, no longer angry, but incredibly sad, suddenly weighed down. Clarke thinks to herself that this is worse. "What am I doing wrong? We live together, for fuck's sake, and I see you once a week lately at most. I go to bed alone and you get home at 3AM, then I wake up and you're gone. We haven't had - we haven't had sex in months. It's Christmas, and -" he sighs, rubbing his watery eyes. He pauses, unable to speak more, and starts to cry into his hands.

Clarke is still speechless. She doesn't know what to say, she wants to reach for him and touch him, hold him, tell him he's not doing anything wrong, it's her fault, but she can't. She knows they've reached a point where there may be no turning back -

Actually, they may have reached this point long before tonight.

Clarke redirects her thoughts onto the AHOD pager.

She does this because work is familiar. Work is something she knows how to handle. Work doesn't get mad at her for missing Christmas. She's good at work. 

"I'm sorry," she whispers, stepping forward slightly as if to approach Finn, but after a moments' hesitation, she pivots and walks out the door.

She'll deal with this later.

Always later.

*

When she gets back to their apartment, it's nearly midnight, and she's got a wrapped painting she did for Finn in her hands. It's a simple one, of the beach where they first met and subsequently had their first kiss, and she's drawn their silhouetted figures against a beautiful sunset. She had worked on it during stolen moments at the station between calls, intending on giving it to him for his birthday in February, but feeling as though this would be good timing, instead.

"Finn?" she calls into the dark apartment. He must be sleeping. Toby approaches her at the door, wagging his tail, and she gives him a few pets before walking into the apartment, turning the lights on. 

"Finn, baby, I'm sorry to wake you -"

That's when she sees it. It's a note scrawled on a legal pad on the kitchen counter, folded into a triangle.

Her breath caught in her throat, Clarke sets down the painting and walks to the kitchen counter, gingerly placing her fingers on the pad and pulling it towards her, opening it up.

She reads.

 **_I tried to tell you so many times, but I don't think you're ready to listen yet._ ** **_I can't be with someone who won't even sometimes put me first. _ **

**_Even before the paramedic gig, you always had inconsequential things at the front of your mind, before all else._ **

**_It's like you were born with some kind of mental block in your mind where you get scared by anyone who loves you too much._ **

**_It's always been this way. It just got worse when you took the job. I wanted to leave earlier, but I loved you too much to give up._ **

**_But I realized today, I'm fighting a losing battle._ **

**_I'm leaving Toby with you because I know how much you love him, but please text Ben if you want me to take him instead._ **

**_Good luck Clarke._ **

**_I_ ** **_hope one day you figure it all out._ **

**_-F_ **

* * *

**Present Day**

Clarke is lying in her station bed, staring at a chart of the human anatomy next to it, while repeatedly throwing a small beanie ball up into the air and catching it. It's been a slow day, a nice contrast from the hell that was the Atom Jenkins crash two nights ago - the only calls they've gotten today so far were from a broken leg in the skate park near Moberly, someone having a major panic attack for the first time and thinking it was a heart attack, an elderly woman with severe osteoporosis who'd fallen down at the senior's home she was living in.

Suddenly, Raven walks into the resting room.

"Hey. Someone's here looking for you. Brunette, says she's from the hospital. She seems nervous," Raven says, smirking at Clarke, who quickly sits up in the bed. "New fling?"

 _Dr. Lexa Woods._ Clarke would be lying if she said she didn't look up the doctor on the Ark Hospital's surgeon profile page. She was _hoping_ for an excuse to see her again.

"No," she says to Raven, standing up and looking into the mirror by the bed, feeling a pang of nerves shoot down to her stomach. "Met her the other night. She operated on Atom Jenkins after we brought him in."

"Right," Raven says, raising an eyebrow. Clarke throws the beanie bag at Raven, and to her chagrin, Raven catches it mid-air.

Clarke starts to walk past Raven. “ _"Right"?_ What's that supposed to mean? Besides, why would you assume she's a new fling solely based on the fact that she's nervous?"

Raven walks close behind Clarke towards the logging room, where Jasper and Monty are currently holding a competition to see who can drink the most cups of water without having to pee for the longest. 

"Hm, let's see," Raven says, facetiously scratching her chin. Clarke rolls her eyes. "Brunette, hot but in an adorable way, but also in a "I could kill you if I wanted to" way, clearly incredibly smart considering she works as a surgeon, ID card says she works as a surgeon in the ER, so she _must_ be emotionally damaged in one way or another. That's your type to a T. Are you kidding?"

“Wow. You should have been a detective instead of a paramedic,” Clarke says sarcastically before pushing the door to the room open. As promised, Dr. Lexa Woods is standing inside, next to the front doors.

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” Raven mutters to Clarke, veering off to the left. 

Clarke watches Raven leave for a second, and turns her attention back to the doctor.

Unfortunately for Clarke, Lexa looks even more beautiful in the light of day. This time, instead of scrubs and a lab coat, she wears a tan coat with a black turtleneck underneath, grey jeans hugging the curve of her thighs (which Clarke _definitely_ does not notice, absolutely not). Clarke feels dumpy in the black Ark-assigned uniform she's wearing, her jacket and t-shirt slightly too baggy and a paint stain on her faded pants.

"Doctor," Clarke says, scratching her head. "Good to see you. Can I go fix you - er - make you a cup of coffee? Tea? Or -"

Lexa shakes her head, laughing. Clarke thinks she's never seen or heard a prettier laugh before. "Please, call me Lexa. The _call me Doctor_ joke was a terrible one, I'm sorry to see that it's made an impression on you 48 hours later. Also, I'm technically off duty right now," she says, then she glances down at her watch. "Well, for another half hour, at least." 

"Sure. Lexa." Clarke grins. "I thought it was pretty funny."

“I'm glad you thought so." Lexa smiles, turns her head in the direction of the outside door. "Do you have a spare moment to step outside?”

There's a jolt of excitement in Clarke's chest when Lexa asks, and she nods, gesturing for Lexa to go ahead. The tragedy of Atom Jenkins has almost passed in her mind, but she still somehow feels that new, emotional connection to the young doctor made that night. It's like a fine line between the two of them, comfortably threading between and around two small bodies in a wide universe of conflict and tragedy. 

They head outside and Clarke pulls a cigarette pack out of her jacket pocket, lighting up and holding the pack out to Lexa, who politely shakes her head. “Thanks, but I try not to during the day. It’s a vice I save for the small hours of the morning after the hardest of shifts.”

Clarke, suddenly feeling slightly self-conscious, nods and puts the pack back in her pocket, taking a pull and exhaling. “Yeah, good for you. It's a nasty habit for me. My friends always give me shit for being someone who helps save lives but also smokes.”

Lexa chuckles. "Self awareness is the first step, I suppose? I don't judge. I'd do it every hour if I could."

Clarke laughs again, and a strangely comfortable silence settles between the two women for a brief moment.

Lexa clears her throat. “I don’t really know why I’m here, to be honest, I could have just made a phone call, but–” Lexa pauses. “It just felt like something that needed to be done in person.”

Clarke tilts her head, curious.

Lexa runs a hand through long, wavy hair and Clarke is suddenly conscious of how beautiful Lexa's hair is when it's down. 

"I spoke with Atom Jenkins' mother, Julia, yesterday. She was at the funeral home down the block from the hospital and wanted to stop by, to pass on thanks to everyone involved in his care despite the outcome, and well -" Lexa's eyes flit up to Clarke's, and it takes everything in Clarke to not immediately nervously stare at her feet. "I thought of you. Figured you'd want to know."

Clarke's face falls almost imperceptibly when Atom is brought up, but she then she thinks of how Lexa is right, she didn't have to come all the way here to say it, but Clarke is grateful - happy - that she did. Her unit hasn't said much of the event that night, but it makes sense that they didn't think as much of it; everyone else was with the lesser-injured victims, and Raven had been driving in the front. Clarke was the one in the back with him, listening to his last words, feeling his grip on her arm loosen as the life literally bled out of him.

She nods in appreciation. “Thank you for telling me that. I definitely cried a bit when I got back to my place that night,” she murmurs, flicking her half-finished cigarette to the ground and stomping. “I don't think anyone could be prepared for the things you end up seeing on the job."

Lexa reaches out, lightly places a hand on Clarke's upper arm for a moment, before taking it off. Clarke blinks at the contact, unbelievably comforted by just the light touch (paired with what feels like almost electric currents running down her arm).

"I get it. Definitely," Lexa says.

Once again, a shrill beeping emanates from Lexa's pocket, and she pulls it out, sighing. “Duty calls. You know, one day I’ll actually be able to start at, and not before, my scheduled shift times. Maybe.”

Clarke feels a vague sense of panic as the doctor presses the mute button on the pager and turns slightly as if to leave. _Shit, I need her phone number, I need to see if -_

"Wait!" Clarke says, almost a little too loud, and Lexa turns back to Clarke. After standing there like a useless sandbag for a few moments, Clarke fumbles in her pockets for her phone. "I, uh. What's your phone number?"

She sees a smile flit at Lexa's lips as she reaches out a lithe hand that Clarke gingerly places her phone in. Lexa stands in front of her for a moment, typing in her information, and Clarke feels like she's going to burst.

Lexa hands Clarke the phone back. "Text me. Even if it’s just for some company and a cigarette at 3am.”

Clarke's thinking before she's speaking, at this point, and she wants to bury herself in the ground after she blurts out an, "Are you free tonight?"

Lexa checks her watch, seeming to contemplate her schedule, and nods. "I am. When are you off tonight?"

"5:30, but realistically 8:30," Clarke says honestly.

Lexa nods knowingly. "Ah, the classic three-hour buffer time. Okay. I'm the same. Text me, and hopefully I'll see you tonight." She reaches out, touches Clarke's forearm again, and Clarke is pretty sure she doesn't need medications or therapy anymore, just Lexa touching her arm lightly whenever she feels upset. 

"See you tonight," Clarke says, almost hoarsely, to Lexa's back as the doctor strides away from her.


	2. Lexa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> smutty smut smut coming ur way  
> alcoholism / drug abuse tw

Lexa Woods is on her way to the ER to start her shift - she's slightly hungover from nearly finishing off a bottle of wine last night after a particularly hard rotation, but she knows she's got to get it together by the time she reaches the ER doors. She takes a quick look at her phone for messages. 

_Definitely_ _not for messages from Clarke the paramedic,_ she thinks to herself. _It's only been two minutes since I gave her my phone number. Don't be weird._

(Thinking this doesn't stop her feeling slightly dejected when she doesn't have any messages from the paramedic.)

It's just a few dating app notifications, emails, and a text from her older sister, Anya.

**Anya** Still on for tonight right ? I should be done round 9. 

_"_ Ah, _fuck,"_ Lexa mumbles to herself, shaking her head. In the sudden flurry of Clarke from Unit A asking her out for _tonight,_ she had more or less blacked out and forgot she had plans to grab a late dinner and milkshakes with her older sister after her shift.

It's not Lexa's fault, really. It's just that the night of the Atom Jenkins surgery, Lexa met a hot paramedic and talked about a failed surgery with her, and she never talks about failed surgeries with _anyone._ And it's not Lexa's fault that Clarke Griffin's husky voice and somber demeanor that night comforted Lexa better than any end-of-day bottle of wine has ever comforted her, or another woman in her bed (or both.). It's also not Lexa's fault that Atom Jenkins' mother came to her team the day after to ask her to pass on thanks.

It's _especially, definitely_ not Lexa's fault that she only asked one nurse if he knew the call number for Unit A before deciding (approximately 0.9 seconds later) it'd be easier to just go to Clarke herself to pass on thanks. Or that she kept feeling the need to touch the blonde's arm, or that Lexa caught Clarke staring at her lips and already she felt some kind of growing illumination inside of her stomach compelling her to kiss a _complete fucking stranger -_

_Not a complete stranger. She's the paramedic, Clarke Griffin. The hot paramedic, Clarke Griffin. Who is probably maybe not gay._

_But she asked for my number._ _Maybe in a friend way?_ _Do people do that? To make friends. Yeah, they must -_

She shakes her head, biting her lip briefly and taking a long inhale to try to clear her mind as she continues walking, running a hand through her hair.

_I think she was also checking me out while I was fixing my hair -_

_Stop._

She starts to type a message to Anya.

**L** **exa** Gotta cancel tonight. Sorry, I just [DELETE]

She realizes she needs to come up with some kind of explanation before immediately bailing on her sister, so she decides she'll think of one on the walk back to the ER. She checks her watch to see that she's got about ten minutes before she's due to go straight into the OR. _Twenty minutes before my shift even starts,_ she thinks bitterly to herself. _I need to talk with the chief about that._

_Yeah. I've got some time._

Lexa looks up, pocketing her phone, only to see that she's already almost at the entrance. She curses again, this time at herself, for her positively _inconvenient,_ anxiety-fueled fast pace of walking. She walks in, politely greeting the triage staff and using her key card to get into the off-duty room. Once she's in, she opens up her locker, shrugs her jacket off and places it in her locker, taking her phone out of the pocket to type once more.

**Lexa** You have reached an automated response system. Lexa has moved countries and is no longer contactable. Goodb [DELETE]

**Lexa** I need to cancel tonight. Something's come up that I will tell you about in a few hours. Starting shift now. Sorry. I love you?? 

As soon as she presses send, Lexa just _knows_ her phone will almost immediately start to ring, but she still jumps slightly, startled when the generic ringtone starts echoing around her room. She hesitates for a moment, staring at her sister’s name on the caller ID and taking a moment to look around the locker room to see if anyone's around. After confirming that she's the only one in the room, Lexa finally answers the call and puts it on speaker, starting to take off her shirt to get into her scrubs for the day. 

“Hel —” Before Lexa can even finish a greeting, Anya's speaking.

“Don’t give me that."

"Don't give you a hello?" Lexa asks sardonically, pulling the blue scrub shirt over her head.

Lexa regrets the remark the second she says it, because, as expected, Anya launches straight into one of her full-on tirades. Lexa sighs and starts pulling her hair up into a ponytail to occupy herself until Anya's finished.

" _Don't give you a_ \- Jesus. Don't give me that, as in don't give me that casual tone pretending you didn't just bail on me over text. And a cryptic text at that. I can’t believe you right now. Three weeks in a row you’ve blown me off now, first it was work and then it was work and now it’s what? _Something's come up_? We’re supposed to hang out. You _promised_ you wouldn't bail. If it's a work thing, I swear -”

Sometimes, Lexa finds herself wondering if perhaps at some point, during a weird time-space warp when they were children, hers and Anya's birthdays got switched and Lexa suddenly became the one who was 4 years older. 

Lexa interrupts. "Don't you have work today or something?" Anya is a social worker at a youth group home. Lexa has a few questions in her head that she thinks she can ask to deflect Anya from the topic of tonight -

"Day off. Don't deflect."

_Shit._

Lexa rolls her eyes and stares up at the ceiling, gritting her teeth.

“And I can _hear_ your eye-rolling, too. Seriously, what the hell, Lexa? Did you forget or something? Also, you _know_ you were super vague in your text, don't play dumb.”

“Okay first of all, I did _not_ forget we had plans tonight. Second of all, those two weeks were _not_ my fault, you know that. And third, I think I got asked on a date tonight, and I wasn't really in a position to turn this person down. Especially not when it's a cute paramedic asking me out for drinks." Lexa pauses. "Also, I forgot we had plans tonight."

Her pager goes off _again._ She's still not ready to go. "God fucking dammit. Anya, you hear that? This is why I told you I'd tell you when I was on break. I've got to go."

Anya splutters loudly down the other end of the phone. “Wait, wait, waitwaitwaitwait. What? Did I hear that correctly? _You’ve_ got a _date_? An actual, real-life human female person asked you out? This isn't just some sketchy randy hook-up?”

Anya's already apparently moved on from being mad at Lexa for bailing on drinks. Lexa rolls her eyes again. “Shut up, A.” She hops on one foot and stumbles a little as she pulls her jeans off, then steps into the scrub pants. “I’m like, 95% sure she’s not a robot.”

She awkwardly fumbles with the waist tie, successfully fastening it and reaching for her phone, taking it off speaker and putting it between her right ear and shoulder, throwing her lab coat, ID tag and stethoscope on and walking towards the doors. "I'm serious, I have to go. Whole thing about life or death. You know how it is, right? Like, literally life or death."

Anya pointedly ignores Lexa. “What are you gonna wear to the date? You should wear that gay shirt you’ve got.”

“My _gay_ shirt?" Lexa immediately lowers her voice as she exits the locker room.

"Your gay what - oh. _Grey_ shirt, Lexa, _grey_ ," Anya says, groaning. "Fine, go save lives or whatever, but just so you know, I'm writing about this in my diary tonight." Anya takes on a dramatic tone. "Dear Diary. Today my flaky, flaky little flake sister flaked on me-"

Lexa hangs up and tucks her phone in her lab coat pocket.

Anya and Clarke are out of her mind, for now. She straightens her back and walks towards the OR briefing room, the attending doctor suddenly following close behind her footsteps and a resident appearing alongside her, quietly handing her a clipboard as they walk.

"What have we got?

"29 year old male, appendicitis, ruptured..."

* * *

Lexa slumps forward into the table in the off-duty room, arms folded across and head nestled into the crook of her elbow. Her lab coat is slung over the chair beside her, and there's a steaming cup of terrible coffee in front of her. She’s exhausted, in every sense of the word, but her shift is over. Finally.

There’s no one around, thankfully, so Lexa can take a few quiet moments to compose herself after her last surgery. She looks at her watch. It's 8PM.

_Shit. The paramedic._

Lexa shoots up from her seat, almost knocking over the coffee, and searches around her pockets for her phone. 

Three emails, three texts and a push notification from Tinder letting her know she's got a few messages waiting to be responded to. Lexa skips immediately to the texts.

**Anya** I sent you a calendar invite and an email and a voicemail to reschedule because that's how much I love u. Go accept it or -

Next.

**Gus** So. I have a theory that the chief is just waiting for us to screw up so she has an excuse to shut down the entire hospital and she gets to retire -

Next.

**Unknown Number** Hey, it's Clarke. Griffin. From Unit A. Just in case you've already forgotten about me. ;)

Bingo. That's what Lexa was waiting for. A smile flits at her mouth as she texts back, completely ignoring Anya and her friend Gus. 

**Lexa** Sorry, who?

Clarke replies almost instantly.

**Clarke** That's cold.

**Lexa** That was fast. 

**Clarke** I work fast.

Lexa bites her lip, starting to nervously jiggle her foot. 

**Clarke** So, drinks tonight? Alibi Room? I'm off in about an hour and can meet you there then.

**Clarke** I need to get to know this beautiful and mysterious doctor who I can't seem to catch for longer than 5 minutes at a time. 

_Okay, she's definitely flirting._ Lexa shakes her head, a blush crawling up all the way to her ears.

**Lexa** Okay, deal, but only because you said beautiful AND mysterious.

**Clarke** Huh. That was an easy sell. Especially considering you apparently don't remember who I am.

**Lexa** Are you calling me easy?

**Clarke** Sorry, who is this?

Lexa chuckles to herself, pocketing her phone again and leaning back into her seat, feeling lighter than she did approximately five minutes ago, but snapping right back up again. _Shit, I only have an hour._ She quickly thinks of how much time it'll take for her to drive back to her apartment, shower -

_Shave? Is that presumptuous? Do I shave?_

Lexa decides she'll shave. Just in case.

Suddenly, the door behind her opens up, and Dr. Nia Gelus, Chief Surgeon at the Ark Hospital, walks in with the orthopaedic surgeon (and her son) Dr. Roan Gelus behind her.

 _The Ice Queen and Ice Prince,_ Lexa thinks to herself, biting the inside of her cheek. Nia and Roan are masterminds and thought leaders in the immense world of surgery, absolutely, there is no denying this - but they're also insufferable, mean, often outright rude to the other doctors and residents.

(The nicknames come from Gus informing the entire team during their residency seven years ago that _Gelus,_ "pronounced Jay _Loose_ , like their morals", he says, is literally Latin for ice.)

Nia seems to be at the tail end of one of her famous rants, Roan looking like he's not even half listening. "You can't just let the patient diagnose herself - ah, Dr. Woods," Nia says, her tone clipped. "Done your rounds for the day?"

Lexa stands, a civil but unfriendly smile on her face. "Dr. Gelus. Dr. Gelus...junior." she adds in a deliberately condescending tone, nodding toward Roan, who only sneers in response. "Yes. I've been meaning to speak with you about adhering to shift start times, actually -"

"No time, no time," Nia says, waving her hand dismissively, pouring herself a rather large mug of coffee. "I'm supervising Gus tonight on the Fox case, he's briefing me in -" Nia checks her watch, already walking towards the door, coffee in hand - "Ten minutes ago. God dammit. How many times do I have to tell you people that I need _reminders,_ I'm not a superhuman..."

And with that, Nia is out the door just as quickly as she came in, still talking to herself.

Roan reaches into the staff fridge and takes out his protein shake, pouring in ice out of the ice machine and shaking it with an obnoxious amount of force. Lexa glares at him as the ice rattles around the bottle, and he only smirks in response.

"What? Meal replacement."

"Do they sell brain cell replacement shakes?" Lexa snips back, getting her lab coat and walking out the door.

"Nice one!" Roan calls after her, just before the door closes.

* * *

Lexa dons the grey button-down shirt that Anya suggested and is mildly annoyed that Anya was right - it is a good shirt. She gives herself a final once-over in her tall mirror, feeling slightly nauseous with nerves.

Before she leaves, Lexa pauses by the front door, contemplating the packet of cigarettes on the side table. Quickly she stuffs them into the inside pocket of her black bomber jacket. Just in case. Sometimes, after a drink (or three or five), Lexa has an almost irrepressible urge to smoke. Denying herself at that point never ends well.

She quickly does a mental run-through of her journey: two blocks to the station, eleven stops on the train, then a block to the bar. If she leaves now, and her walk is brisk, Lexa calculates that she’ll arrive only 5 minutes late.

The train journey across town is quiet and uneventful, and Lexa is grateful that her carriage remains almost empty. She hates public transport. She can’t help but try and diagnose the people around her. Is that just a cough, or is it indicative of respiratory issues? Is that broken ankle healing properly? It’s a real problem.

Instead her thoughts turn to her date. _Is date the right word?_ Could this even be classed as a date? Neither of them explicitly stated it as such. Maybe this is simply two vaguely acquainted colleagues sharing a drink? But then again, they're meeting at 9pm. Surely there's something implied by the lateness of the hour?

_This is why I don’t date. Too confusing._

It’s been … a long time. Lexa doesn't remember the last time she actually went out to meet someone. Her nights out usually consisted of going to the local gay bar with Gus, who is the perfect wingman, bringing a girl home, and letting the girl know afterwards that she's got a _really_ early shift tomorrow, so she'll call the girl an Uber right now. Otherwise, she's perfectly content sitting in her apartment, watching shitty movies with Anya and/or Gus and drinking copious amounts of wine and/or bourbon.

She realizes she probably should have had some of her nice bourbon before she left tonight to calm her nerves as she leaves the train, approaching the bar. She glances down at her watch. 9:06PM. _Not bad_.

Lexa scans the room and searches for Clarke. She quickly finds her sitting at a table in the corner, on her phone, pitcher already in front of her. Lexa smiles as she heads over.

“Clarke, hi, sorry I’m a little late," she says, slightly breathless.

Clarke looks up, pockets her cellphone and smiles. "A whole five minutes. I was beginning to think you wouldn't show," she jokes, leaning in to hug Lexa. She smells vaguely of lilacs, Lexa thinks to herself as she hugs Clarke back around the shoulders, the hug slightly awkward but somehow still comfortable. The contact feels brief and fleeting, and Clarke's hand remains on Lexa's waist for a few seconds longer than what would be considered normal after they break apart.

Clarke's wearing a slightly oversized black bomber jacket and a white t-shirt, paired with light blue mom jeans, such a simple outfit, but with Clarke wearing it, it looks like she's just stepped out of an American Apparel ad.

"Six, actually," Lexa says, smirking.

"Even worse. I got a little ahead of myself and ordered a pitcher. Do you like beer? It's an IPA." Clarke sits, looking rather nervous, and it's incredibly endearing. "Oh god, please tell me you like beer and I didn't just completely assume that you like something it turns out you actually hate."

Lexa laughs lightly, taking a seat across from Clarke. “Don’t worry about it - beer is great. Simple, gets the job done.”

Clarke sighs. "Okay, great. That's great news." She reaches over to grab Lexa's glass, pouring the beer in and sliding it over to her.

"Cheers," Lexa says, holding the glass up, "To three hour buffer times."

Clarke lets out a laugh, clinking her glass against Lexa's. "I'll drink to that."

Lexa takes a small sip; the beer is hoppy, but not overly so. Definitely drinkable. “This is good. Good choice. You pass..”

Clarke grins at Lexa as she takes a sip of the beer, leaning back in her seat. “Glad to hear it." She leans forward slightly. "So, I'm sort of afraid our pagers are going to go off in the middle of this. As much as I like discussing flavour profiles of beer -"

"Do you really?"

"- Absolutely not," Clarke says, and the two women laugh again. Lexa is already feeling more at ease. "Since our pagers are probably going to go off within the next five seconds, I’m going to try to fit as much as I can into the potential few seconds we might have left.” 

Lexa can tell Clarke is half joking, half not, so she just smiles. "Go for it."

"Why surgery? Emergency surgery?" 

It's a tough question, right from the off, but Lexa thinks she enjoys the challenge. She takes a short inhale in, holds it for a moment, and exhales. "I have a god complex. Next question."

Clarke raises her eyebrow. "I accept that answer. For now." She takes a sip of her beer. "What's your story? I may or may not have looked you up on the Ark surgeon profiles page and saw you're only a few years older than I am. How did you manage that?"

Lexa would be lying if she said she doesn't feel a faint twinge of pride any time her young age is brought up in the world of surgery. She knows she's good. She knows she's good because young women like her don't make it as far as she has without being good, _too_ good, so good that it makes the older men and women in her field uncomfortable. But she's rarely openly prideful enough to boast about it, allowing people to come to their own conclusions when she walks into a waiting room in the ER, prepared to brief a patient on how she's going to repair their broken bones. 

"A lot of school and a lack of a social life," Lexa says. "I’m sure I used to have hobbies and free time and an actual personality once, before I decided the medical profession was a good idea.” 

Clarke chuckles at this. Lexa takes this opportunity to counter with a question of her own.

"How about you? Why become a paramedic?"

Clarke seems to take a moment to think, which Lexa realizes she hasn't seen her do since they first met. It makes sense - paramedics are often trained to act first, think later, say yes now and come up with the actual answer after. 

"Honestly, I wish I had some existential reason for becoming a paramedic, like I witnessed something dramatic and life-changing at a young age that made me want to -" she waves her hand vaguely in Lexa's direction. "Save lives. But honestly, my reasons for being a paramedic sort of boil down to just...wanting to be a paramedic."

Lexa appreciates the frankness of Clarke's answer, but can't help feeling as though there's more to it.

Something Lexa has been trained to do: know when someone is only telling a half-truth.

But she doesn't pry.

Clarke continues out of her own accord. "My parents wanted me to become an ambulance-chasing lawyer, so I went to law school for a bit, but decided I hated it. So I said "fuck it," dropped out, and became one of the people in the ambulance instead." Clarke shrugs. "They weren’t happy about it in the beginning, but I love it so much that I think they kind of understood and laid off with the ‘it’s not too late for law school’ conversations every time the holidays come ‘round.”

There's a moment where Clarke looks up at Lexa, and Lexa looks at Clarke, and there's a flash of something almost _dark_ in Clarke's eyes. Lexa notices Clarke giving Lexa's lips an almost imperceptible glance before she's focusing on her beer, and that motion in and of itself causes that illuminating, warm glow in her stomach to reappear. 

_Fuck._

Before Lexa has a chance to respond, Clarke is speaking again. “Ah, okay, so I’ll just be - I’ll just be straight up with you here.” Clarke scratches her forehead briefly, glancing up at Lexa again, then back at her beer. "You...there's something about you that's really intrigued me since the first night we met, after the Jenkins accident. And I want to get to know you better. And not just," Clarke clears her throat. "Not just in a friend or acquaintance way. But if you're straight, that's - obviously that's fine, I'd like to be friends, but - yeah."

Lexa has to stifle a laugh. Clarke's slightly awkward stumbling of words is rather endearing, not something she expected out of the seemingly indestructible confidence first presented in the blonde. "Yeah...no, I'm not straight, not even a little bit," she replies, smirking. "I knew I should have probably been more explicit about that." She brings her glass to her lips for another few sips of beer. “I’m glad we’re on the same page here - you’re rather intriguing too, you know.”

_And getting laid certainly wouldn’t hurt, either._

Clarke is visibly and instantly more relaxed, chuckling and running a hand through her hair, lightly nudging Lexa's foot with her own. With that, the glow in Lexa's stomach doesn't go away - in fact, it feels like it's getting increasingly hotter and hotter.

"Thank god," Clarke says. “To be totally honest with you, I didn’t have anything prepared in case you _were_ straight. I mean, not that I wouldn’t be enjoying myself if you _were -_ but you get what I mean.” Clarke's face softens, and she seems to want to change the subject.

"Why do you do it, other than the god complex?" Clarke asks again, and Lexa realizes they're coming back full circle, except this time, they both know _exactly_ what's going on tonight. "Saving lives, I mean."

Lexa purses her lips for a moment. "I just wanted to make a practical difference, as opposed to a theoretical one like my parents. They are both in biomedical research, and expected that I’d just follow them into the lab. They think that -"

Clarke's hand is suddenly reaching over, her fingertips trailing along the top of the hand Lexa's placed on the table. Lexa only misses about half a beat in her sentence, but it's a noticeable one. " - Sewing up stab wounds is a waste of my intelligence." Lexa turns her hand slightly, palm now facing up, and Clarke traces the lines on her hand. 

It's not a glow in Lexa's stomach anymore, it's a fire, and it's spreading down towards her legs. when Lexa turns her hand, her and Clarke make eye contact again, and this time, it's not just a momentary darkness. Clarke's eyes are suddenly slightly hooded, pupils larger.

Lexa's speaking before she even has a chance to fully calculate.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

It’s blunt and completely against the flow of their conversation, and they've been sitting there for all of thirty minutes, but Lexa feels like she's on fire, she wants to kiss Clarke _so badly,_ but the bar is crowded and she has no intention of keeping it to just a chaste kiss. She hasn't felt this desperate for someone she barely knows in a long time, since -

 _Not tonight._

Clarke is nodding, biting her lip briefly, and they both stand, Lexa pulling a twenty out of her pocket and paying for the half-finished pitcher. 

"Hey, wait - " Clarke starts to protest.

"Do you want to argue about who pays for the fifteen dollar pitcher, or do you want to leave?" Lexa feels emboldened with the confirmation that Clarke wants her too, clearly just as bad, considering how fast she stood.

"Yeah, okay, leave," Clarke says, walking past Lexa and placing a hand on the small of her back as she does. "My place is just a few blocks away."

It's at that point Lexa realizes that this was calculated, there was a specific reason this bar was chosen, and she knows Clarke intended for this to happen tonight. Another rush of almost throbbing heat passes through her.

When they leave the crowded, almost humid bar, Lexa feels a new charge of energy with her first breath of fresh air, and in the midst of this, she feels Clarke's hand move from the small of her back down to her hand, their fingers clasping together. 

They start walking down the block, and Lexa vaguely thinks to herself how pleasantly quiet it is now compared to the bar, how there are so few people ambling around at this time of night. A man walking his chocolate labrador passes them, and Lexa reaches out slightly to brush her fingertips along the dog's head.

Clarke notices this. "Oh, I have a dog, by the way," she says. "I'll take that as you not being allergic?"

"You have a dog?" Lexa feigns a dramatic kind of shock. "You could have gotten me to come over the first night we met if I'd known that."

Clarke giggles as they continue walking, and Lexa can feel the tension between them building to a point where she's not entirely certain she can make it all the way to Clarke's apartment. 

Until Clarke suddenly stops, says "Hold on," and Lexa feels herself getting pushed back into a wall, Clarke's lips meeting hers in one of the _dirtiest_ kisses Lexa's ever experienced. They're clashing teeth and tongues and hands everywhere. She tastes like booze, cigarettes, spearmint. There's no way Lexa can even start to stifle the moan that escapes out of her throat when she feels Clarke's hands push into her waist, and when she feels Clarke breathe a sigh into her mouth, Lexa shifts so that her leg is firmly placed between Clarke's legs.

" _Fuck,"_ Clarke says, her lips moving to ghost over Lexa's jawline. "We need to go. Now."

The pressure of Clarke's warm body is off of Lexa's too fast, Lexa almost wants to protest, but that feeling is quashed when Clarke walks towards the front door of the apartment building that Lexa just wanted to fuck Clarke against. Clarke fumbles in her pockets for her FOB, and when they make it from the lobby and into the elevator, Clarke hits the button for the 12th floor and Lexa finds herself being pushed against the elevator walls. Everything's a blur, Clarke's mouth working against hers, there's heat emanating from every part of Lexa's body, particularly between her legs, and she feels a rush of wetness coming in from her core.

The elevator dings with each floor and Lexa pushes back against Clarke, who ever so slightly steps back in slight confusion, but then Lexa's whirling them around, Clarke hitting the wall with a dull _thud,_ and they're kissing again, with fervor. 

"Aggressive," Clarke says breathily, allowing Lexa to kiss down her neck. "Fuck, you're so hot."

The way from the elevator to Clarke's apartment feels unfairly long, but when they make it to the front door and Clarke unlocks it, they're both stumbling inside, Clarke more or less slamming Lexa into the door to close it behind them. Lexa's vaguely aware of a large, hairy, four-legged figure beside them, and looks to her left to see a giant Bernese Mountain Dog panting at their side, wagging his tail.

"Ignore him for now," Clarke breathes, her palm suddenly on Lexa's cheek, turning it towards her. "Toby, kennel," she commands, and the dog lets out a small whine as he turns back. Lexa feels bad for about a second before their lips meet again. Lexa feels like she can't get enough, there isn't enough time in the world to make out with Clarke for as long as she currently wants to. They both moan when their tongues meet. Clarke pulls back, shucking her jacket onto the floor, and starts to work away at Lexa's shirt buttons while Lexa does the same with her own jacket. Clarke successfully unbuttons the grey shirt, and Lexa shrugs it off, leaving her wearing only her pants and a black lace bralette.

"Bed," Clarke says, almost like an order, immediately after doing an almost _hungry_ once-over on Lexa's chest. She grabs Lexa's hand and leads them towards the dark bedroom.

Clothes continue to get thrown off on their way, Clarke allowing Lexa to pull the white shirt off, and they're on Clarke's bed, Lexa underneath Clarke, and Lexa reaches up, unhooking the back of Clarke's bra.

Lexa runs her hands along the sides of Clarke's bare waist and is pulling herself up in an instant, Clarke straddling Lexa as she sits up, and Lexa is kissing Clarke's neck, biting and moving slowly, slowly downwards, until Clarke's right nipple is in her mouth.

Clarke's chin moves up, her eyes closing as she lets out a moan, her hands blindly searching for the back of Lexa's bralette, and Lexa runs her tongue over Clarke's breasts while Clarke successfully undoes Lexa's bra.

Lexa is suddenly too aware of the fact that they're still wearing pants, and she reaches down to undo the top button of Clarke's jeans. "These, off, now," she breathes, and Clarke is up in an instant, shuffling back to stand at the foot of the bed, unzipping her pants and pulling them down, Lexa doing the same with her own.

When Clarke is on top of Lexa again, she pushes her right thigh against Lexa's centre, and Lexa tilts her head up, letting out another guttural moan, another flash of heat and wetness plummeting from her stomach. Clarke takes this opportunity to start grinding against Lexa without any patience or regard for the fact that Lexa is already getting so worked up she's starting to see stars. Lexa moves her leg up against Clarke, both of them grinding against each other, and Lexa starts to feel Clarke's wetness against her leg, through her underwear. Lexa is aware that Clarke feels the same sensation on her own leg.

"Fuck me," she moans, grabbing a handful of Clarke's hair, pushing her head towards her own in another kiss, "Please, fuck me, I need -"

Clarke doesn't miss a beat, her thigh moving back from Lexa's centre and her hand snaking down the length of Lexa's body, underneath her panties, and within a few seconds, her fingers are moving through slick folds. Lexa sees her gasp at the contact, their foreheads touching as she dips the tip of her middle finger inside, and Lexa can't fucking _stand_ to be teased right now and is about to let Clarke know as such when suddenly Clarke's ripping her underwear off and pushing two fingers _deepdeepdeep_ inside of her.

There's a pause, Lexa letting out a strangled groan, Clarke moaning with her, but it's not long before Clarke is fucking Lexa, her fingers curling up _right where Lexa needs it,_ the sounds of Lexa's wetness against her hand seeming to egg her on even further.

"Fuck, _Clarke,_ _fuck_ ," are the only words Lexa can manage to formulate as she feels pressure building inside of her, walls clenching around Clarke's strong fingers, Lexa clawing at Clarke's back. She's almost there, she can feel it, she's been _almost there_ since Clarke first touched her fingers to Lexa's hand back at the bar, there's nothing but Clarke's hand working inside of her, Clarke's mouth latched against Lexa's neck, Clarke's other hand with a firm grasp in Lexa's hair, _Clarke Clarke Clarke -_

Then, Clarke's head is moving from Lexa's neck, kissing down the length of her body as she continues to fuck her, and Lexa doesn't get a chance to register what's happening before Clarke's tongue is flush against her clit.

"Holy _fuck,_ " Lexa's voice is somewhere in between a breath and a forceful shout as Clarke's tongue starts working against Lexa, Lexa can't even tell what she's doing with it at this point because it's all one amalgamated movement, there's no such hope as stopping the immense wave that's starting to crash down on her as she comes, her eyes slamming shut, vision going white, one hand gripping Clarke's sheets, another _tight tight tight_ in Clarke's hair.

She involuntarily bucks against Clarke's mouth, and Clarke lets out another moan as Lexa comes, clearly without any intention of slowing down or letting Lexa down from this high, fucking Lexa and moving her tongue in repeated, broad strokes, until Lexa is so sensitive that she starts to shudder.

With one last stroke of her tongue, Clarke is off of Lexa, her fingers slowing down to a halt. Lexa watches as Clarke uses her other hand to wipe Lexa's come off of her mouth, and Lexa is pulling Clarke towards her, their mouths melding together again, Lexa tasting herself against Clarke's lips. 

Lexa is still seeing stars when Clarke starts to move her hand down again, but Lexa grasps the other girl's wrist.

"Not yet," she whispers, and Clarke is about to open her mouth to speak when Lexa catches a second wind and is sitting upright, pushing Clarke down underneath her on the bed, determined to make her feel just as good, if not _better_ than how Clarke has just made her feel (though, Lexa wonders how she could possibly beat what Clarke's just done to her).

"Soon," Clarke moans in response, Lexa starting to work her way down Clarke's body.

* * *

It's a few more hours of this, sweat-slicked bodies writhing against one another, fingers and hands and mouths everywhere, and they've both finally exhausted themselves for the night.

"Holy shit," Clarke breathes, lying on her back and staring at the ceiling, Lexa doing the same.

"Yeah," Lexa says, and they both look at each other. For some inexplicable reason, they start laughing.

"I don't quite know what I expected, but this was definitely better than that," Clarke says, rolling over to her side to face Lexa. Lexa tilts her head up, grinning at Clarke. Clarke's hair is mussed up, her lips swollen, two hickies on the left side of her neck.

"You sure you didn't expect this?" Lexa says teasingly.

Clarke furrows her brow, her mouth agape, and she lightly punches Lexa's shoulder. "What on earth is that supposed to mean?"

"Come on," Lexa says, starting to laugh again, "A bar less than two blocks from your place, the "are you gay, are we down for this _right now_ " talk, you're pulling moves that there's no way you haven't pulled before."

Clarke chuckles. "I told you I work fast."

"Hey, I'm not complaining," Lexa says, raising her hands in defense.

Suddenly, there's a whine coming from outside Clarke's door, and Clarke looks up to the source.

"Toby," she says, groaning. "I forgot."

"I didn't," Lexa says, sitting up and starting to reach around for her shirt. "Time for me to do what I actually came here for - to pet your dog. Where is my shirt..." 

"Outside," Clarke says, and the two have another moment where they look at at each other and can't seem to help but laugh at the absurdity, the fast-paced nature, of this situation. "Here, just take this." Clarke chucks a white oversize Modest Mouse t-shirt towards Lexa. It's clearly worn and old, and Lexa feels that fondness rush through her again as she tugs it over her head.

"What do you do when you've got long shifts at dispatch?"

"Friends from other stations dogsit him," Clarke says, "At first I offered to pay them but we established the glory of Toby's presence and many beers suffice as payment."

After they get somewhat dressed enough, they both make their way out, Lexa feeling like her legs have just gone through a marathon. 

"Hey, buddy," Clarke says to the rather excited albeit slow-moving dog, giving him a pat before reaching to turn the lights on in her apartment.

"Hi, dog," Lexa says, kneeling down to pet Toby while Clarke goes to the kitchen to pour a glass of water. "When did you get this beautiful boy?"

Clarke takes a second to gulp down some water, reaching to fill another glass presumably for Lexa.

"We - I got him about four years ago now," Clarke says, stumbling over her words again. Another half-truth, one that Lexa isn't sure she wants to know about yet. _It's always an ex,_ she thinks to herself as she pets Toby, who nudges his head against her hand.

Clarke walks over to Lexa, wordlessly handing her the glass of water, and Lexa sits back against the wall of Clarke's apartment, observing her surroundings for the first time since the bar as Clarke pushes her face against the side of Toby's, giving him kisses.

Her apartment is small but cozy, a little on the messy side, but this only serves to further endear Clarke to Lexa. Toby's giant crate is in the corner, stuffed with blankets and toys, and a record player sits beside it.

"Do you play records for your dog?" Lexa asks jokingly. Clarke looks up, standing and walking towards it.

"Honestly? When I know he's going to be alone for a few hours, yeah." 

"What do you play for him?"

"Otis Redding."

"You're kidding."

Clarke, as if to answer Lexa's question, turns on her record player and lifts the needle of the record player and places it on the now-spinning record. _Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay_ starts sounding through the speakers. Clarke turns and does a silly little slow-moving dance for Lexa.

"I never joke about Otis Redding." Clarke reaches her hands towards Lexa.

Lexa feels another rush of affection move through her as she stands, moving to take Clarke's open hands, and they start to slow dance for a moment, Clarke moving her arm up to spin Lexa around. 

They break apart after a short moment, Clarke moving to sit on her L-couch, Toby bounding to leap on and sit next to her. Lexa's eye catches the clock on Clarke's wall to see that it's almost three in the morning.

"Damn," she says, looking at her watch as if to double-check that she isn't hallucinating. Clarke frowns.

"What?"

"It's late," Lexa says, tapping her watch. "Didn't realize it."

"Time flies when you're having - sex," Clarke says, and Lexa smiles nervously, suddenly unsure of what she's supposed to do.

"Here, sit," Clarke says, gesturing to the spot beside Toby. Lexa sits back, her head leaning back into the edge of the couch, hand starting to scratch Toby's head. The Otis Redding song fades away into _Let Me Come On Home._

"So, it's time to finish off our conversation from the bar," Clarke rolls her head so that she's facing Lexa, smirking. "Your parents are disappointed in you for becoming a surgeon?"

"Ugh, pass," Lexa groans, rolling her eyes, and Clarke laughs, standing and moving to the kitchen again.

"Want some wine?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

"Only on the condition that you tell me more about why you became a surgeon."

Lexa sighs, huffing slightly, before deciding that Clarke is genuinely curious about her life.

She starts talking as Clarke pours them each a glass of Cabernet Merlot.

"I guess it happens when you've got two PhD holders as parents..."

* * *

Lexa is woken up by the feeling of a tongue on her face.

 _What the..._ she squints, moving her face away from whatever the source is, and realizes Toby is panting at the side of Clarke's bed. Which Lexa is currently waking up in. In the morning.

She sits up to find that Clarke isn't beside her, and checks her watch to see that it's near 9AM. She remembers looking at the clock as her and Clarke continued talking through the night about the trials and tribulations of working in medical care, thinking _holy shit, it's five in the morning,_ and in a wine-filled haze, her and Clarke making their way back to Clarke's bed for a few more gos before falling asleep.

There's a neatly folded note on the bedstand by Lexa's head, and she opens it up.

**I have a very poorly stocked fridge and a shift that starts in half an hour, so consider this as a coupon to breakfast and coffee, on me, to make up for the lack of it this morning.**

**Thanks for last night.**

**XO CG**

Lexa grins to herself, stretching the pleasant soreness out of her body, and gets dressed, pocketing Clarke's note and giving Toby a final pat (and a treat that she makes him promise to not tell Clarke about) before leaving Clarke's apartment.

* * *

**Three Years Ago**

"You have a fucking problem."

Lexa rolls her eyes as she takes another sip of her bourbon, feet propped up on top of her Ottoman, as Costia stands above her, arms crossed.

"Having bourbon after a hard shift is a problem?" Lexa snaps back, and Costia scoffs.

"It's a problem when it's four glasses, by yourself, within an hour. and when apparently, every shift is a hard shift," she says. "Lex, baby, I'm worried about you. Even Anya's worried about you -"

"If Anya has a problem with me, she can take it up with me," Lexa says, glaring up at her wife. "I'm sick of the two of you pretending like you have some kind of higher moral ground on me because I like to enjoy a nice drink or two every once in a while."

"Don't pretend like that's what the problem is," Costia snaps, and Lexa groans, standing (and stumbling slightly) to meet Costia's eyes. 

"Maybe the problem is that you're tired after a full day at your job and taking it out on me. It's not my fault you can't seem to find a higher purpose in your work."

Lexa says the words with her uninhibited, loose tongue and knows she's made a mistake as soon as she says it. Costia fucking _hates_ her job at Deacons and Forester, the accounting firm giant, and Lexa knows it. Costia steels herself, clenching her jaw.

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you!" Lexa says, her voice rising. "You have no idea what this job is like -"

"No, I don't, because you never talk about it with me," Costia says, her voice rising to match the volume of Lexa's. "You can't just go through the shit you go through at work by yourself and pretend that downing an entire bottle of whiskey is going to make it go away. And just because the rest of us aren't saving lives doesn't mean we don't find a _higher purpose._ I work to make ends meet, same as you!"

"I'm not dealing with this right now." Lexa starts striding towards the front door. 

"Oh, so I'm just someone for you to deal with? I'm the woman you fucking _married_ less than a year ago, Lexa Woods," Costia yells from behind Lexa's back. 

"Perhaps that was a mistake," Lexa says, not meaning it but wanting to leave the current situation at hand. She doesn't look back to see if Costia's reacting before she's out the door, on her phone to call an Uber to Anya's house.

*

She's hungover and angry and stressed by the time she gets to work the next morning, but Lexa is _this_ close to being promoted to Head Surgeon of the ER, and she can't afford to show it. Anya had left early that morning to go check on Costia, make sure she's okay, and Lexa bitterly thinks to herself that Costia is the little sister Anya would have preferred to have over her.

So, when she's at the tail end of her shift and she sees five missed calls from Anya, she decides to not call her back and instead decides she'll walk home the long way and pick up a handle of Bulleit Bourbon on her way home to Costia.

Lexa turns her phone off and greets the doctor who is taking over her shift. She's preparing to make the absolutely _dreadful_ small talk she usually makes with him, but his pager is going off the second they say hello and he's starting out the door of the break room in an instant.

"Brain aneurysm," he says, shaking his head as he leaves. "Ruptured, apparently. It's bad. No way they're gonna make it."

*

Lexa gets home and hers and Costia's apartment is...empty. 

Her and Anya must have gone out for drinks. With a sigh, Lexa opens up the bottle, pours herself a glass on the rocks, and turns her phone on again. Her phone immediately starts pinging with text notifications, voicemails, missed calls.

**Anya** Pick up.

**Anya** Lexa, pick the fuck up, it's Costia, it's bad, I don't care how mad you are, you need to pick up

**Anya** Fuck

**Gus** Lexa where are you?? 

Lexa doesn't really put two and two together until her pager starts ringing and it's a page from Nia Gelus ordering her to come back to the ER immediately.

Right now.

*

At the funeral reception it's revealed by a close friend of Costia's, Luna, that Costia had developed an addiction to cocaine approximately two years ago while working at their accounting firm that only Luna had known about. Costia made Luna swear not to tell Lexa until she had a handle on it. Luna is so, so, sorry she didn't say anything until it was too late.

When she learns this, Lexa thinks to herself vaguely that brain aneurysms are often caused by overusage of coke. She wonders to herself how she could have possibly missed it.

Gus has to pull Lexa off of Luna and pry her hands off of Luna's throat approximately one minute later.

*

Given the circumstances, Luna doesn't press charges against Lexa, and Dr. Nia Gelus is aware of the situation but decides to give Lexa two weeks leave to grieve and brushes the funeral reception incident under the rug. Lexa doesn't hear from Luna again after the incident.

When Lexa gets back, she's promoted to Head Surgeon of the Ark Emergency Room.

She doesn't want it, not anymore, but Nia essentially implies that if Lexa doesn't take it, she'll be out of a job completely, because Nia was originally going to give the role to her son Roan and she'll be _damned_ if she fought with him on this for nothing.

After two weeks of not getting out of bed, drinking every night and refusing to see anyone (including Anya who dilgently knocks on Lexa's door and leaves takeout outside when she doesn't answer), Lexa starts to work 12 hour shifts and drinks the rest of her waking hours away, and she downloads hookup apps and goes out partying instead of going to therapy or seeing the Ark-offered psychologist. 

She likes it best this way. 

Lexa decides she'll live out the rest of her life this way.


	3. Clarke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a very sheepish hello. sorry for this. life is, yknow....(gestures vaguely towards the entire world)
> 
> got lots of ideas for this one. changed it to an explicit rating for ...reasons
> 
> hope you're all keeping safe & taking care of yourselves.
> 
> all the love in the world.  
> -t

Clarke deals the cards for hers and Raven's third consecutive game of cribbage. It's been a moderately busy day at the station, a few non-fatal calls, a car accident on the highway, but they haven't had a call in almost two hours now.

Bellamy and Octavia are arguing in the kitchen about the right way to make a roux for fettucine alfredo, and Monty and Jasper are playing Super Smash Bros on the station television. 

As Clarke picks up her new cards, her phone buzzes. Raven quirks an eyebrow.

"The doctor lady?"

Clarke shrugs casually, but her heart picks up speed, just the tiniest bit. She taps her phone to wake it up.

**Niylah** Hey. You free tonight?

Clarke sighs, shaking her head. It's not that she feels disappointed, but she -- _feels disappointed._ "Just Niylah."

Raven looks up from her cards. "You're still sleeping with her?"

" _You're still sleeping with her?"_ Clarke mimicks Raven, placing her set of cards in the game crib. 

"No need for the attitude." Raven flicks her two cards forward. "Just a question."

"Sorry," Clarke says, clearing her throat. "I'm a little high strung today."

"No kidding."

It's been a week since Clarke hooked up with Lexa for the first time, and she thinks about it nightly, before bed, in the bed where she had Lexa writhing underneath her, Lexa inside of her, Lexa -

Clarke shifts in her seat, realizing she's turning herself on in the middle of the afternoon, at work, while she plays crib with her best friend. Lexa and Clarke have spoken since that night, but in the form of text exchanges trying to make plans to see each other again and realizing their schedules are indefinitely opposite from the other's. 

(Clarke's never had much time for a social life.)

While Raven looks through her cards, Clarke picks up her phone, swipes out of Niylah's message and looks at her last exchange with Lexa from a few days ago.

**Clarke** Tonight?

**Lexa** Shift. This is killing me. I'm really sorry.

**Clarke** See u never

**Lexa** Hey. Don't be mean.

Clarke smirks slightly, her thumb hovering over the keyboard, but she doesn't even have a second to think of a text to send Lexa before she hears Raven clearing her throat.

Clarke puts her phone down. "What?"

" _What?_ You went on a date last week and I've barely heard anything about it. You just sent me a smirk emoji when I asked what happened and that was it. Come on. Give me details. I am so bored and my love life is dead right now."

Raven has been Clarke's best friend from the day they started working together. Raven knows the lewd details of every person Clarke's been on a date with, she knows about her history with Finn, she knows that Clarke got a breakfast sandwich on an everything bagel this morning, but there's a part of Clarke that wants to keep Lexa...a _secret._

She can't quite explain it. It feels almost as though she respects Lexa too much to be telling Raven the vivid details of their night together, that she doesn't want to talk too much about a good thing in case she loses it.

Clarke shrugs, already seeing Raven start to roll her eyes. "That's really all you need to know. I don't know. It was great."

"Do you think you like her?"

The alarm rings through the station and the crew is up in an instant. Another car accident, on Jackson Street, two people involved. Clarke is about to call Raven's name as usual to partner with her on this, but she knows that Raven will ask more questions, and Clarke is entirely too tired to do the mental gymnastics required to avoid talking about it.

"I'll take this one with Bellamy," Clarke calls to the team, and she hears Raven let out a bewildered _what?!_ behind her as her and Bellamy head to the truck. 

"You guys fighting or something?" Bellamy says as he starts up the truck, pulling out of the station, "Feels weird driving with you in the passenger seat."

"Nope. Just needed a change in scenery."

*

When they get back to the station an hour later, Raven's out on another call, and Clarke feels a twinge of relief as she heads to the kitchen. Octavia's washing her hands, and there's a pot of pasta sitting on the stove.

"Hey," she says, turning off the faucet. "We just ate, lots of leftovers there for you guys."

Bellamy jogs over to inspect the pasta sauce sitting in the pan beside the pot. "Did you make the roux like I said to?"

"I am absolutely begging you to shut the fuck up." Octavia finishes washing her hands and flicks water at her older brother. "How was the call?"

Clarke snorts, leaning on the counter. "Ah, it was okay. Pretty bad whiplash on one of them and some cuts on the other but nothing bad." She yawns, checking her watch. There's still two hours left in her shift, and it's nearing 8PM. She pushes off the counter to serve herself some pasta, which Bellamy has already inhaled half of as he saunters over to the kitchen table.

"Raven?"

"Her and Monty just got a call. Sounded like asphyxiation. Allergies. Something about peanuts. Nothing severe."

"Brutal. Imagine you're living your life and you get taken down by a peanut." 

Bellamy's voice sounds from the table. "Clarke, you just got a text."

Clarke realizes that she left her phone there during hers and Raven's game, and walks over. Bellamy doesn't even look away from his slowly shrinking pile of pasta as he hands it to her.

**Lexa** Good news. Finished an op early. Head surgeon says I can head out for the night. You free?

Clarke bites her lip to suppress a smile pushing its way out. _Finally._

**Clarke** Off in two hours. Drinks?

Lexa's response is instant.

**Lexa** How about you just come over to mine instead? Plenty of drinks here.

**Clarke** I'll drive over after my shift. Txt me your address. Looking forward to it

*

Clarke takes a shower in the station bathroom once her shift is over, and once she's finished and dressed, she steps out to see Raven, arms crossed.

"Hey," Clarke says, running her fingers through her hair nervously. "How was your call?"

"Seriously?"

Clarke sighs, walking past Raven into the locker room to get her things. "Look, I'm sorry, I just thought Bellamy hadn't been on a call for his whole shift, and -"

"It's you and me, Griffin," Raven says, following her in. "Always has been. I'm really not cool with you pulling that shit back there. It messes up the balance. I was majorly off the entire time I was on that job with Monty. I kept calling the patient Chris. His name was Peter. Not even fucking close."

"You saying I'm your lucky charm?" Clarke pulls her bag out of her locker.

"I'm saying that I like my routines, and I know your routines. Your routine is to go on calls with me. You dodged it. Why did you do that?"

Clarke is cognizant of the fact that if she tells Raven it was because she didn't want to answer her questions about Lexa, it'll only prompt Raven into asking _more_ questions about Lexa. "I'm sorry, Raven," she says again, placing her hand on her friend's shoulder. "It won't happen again."

Raven looks like she's about to say more, but instead, resigns with a deep exhale. "Fine. You can go home. Other shift is here."

_I'm actually not going home_ is what Clarke wants to say to Raven, but again, she feels the inexplicable desire to keep Lexa a secret. She slides her hand off Raven's shoulder and walks out of the locker room. 

"See you tomorrow."

*

Clarke parks a few blocks out from the address Lexa gave her to clear her mind with a walk before she gets there. Part of her almost feels nervous that this time around, if they have sex (which Clarke isn't quite doubting the possibility of), it won't be as good as the first time. Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe they were just drunk, so it felt better than it actually did. 

_Am I fucking having performance anxiety?_ she thinks to herself, running her hand through her hair and taking a deep breath as she starts walking. 

The morning after that first night, Clarke had left her apartment with a sleeping Lexa in her bed, and spent the whole day with her head in the clouds. She doesn't remember the last time she'd slept with someone who made her feel like she was burning up from the inside out like Lexa had. It wasn't even just the sex - that first explosive kiss they had outside of her apartment has been playing on a repeat reel in her head on a daily basis.

She feels her phone vibrate in her pocket and pulls it out to see that her mother has texted.

**Abby** Hey bear. It's been a while. I have news. Do you have time tomorrow for me to come by? I can give you a call.

Clarke hasn't seen her mother since Christmas, so almost half a year ago - and she's not entirely sure she wants that to change tomorrow. Instead of responding, she tucks her phone back in her pocket and continues her walk to Lexa's apartment.

She pushes the code for Lexa's buzzer and can see the inside of the building lobby through ceiling-to-window glass. It looks like the interior of the Shangri-La lobby. Clarke isn't quite sure why she feels surprised - Lexa is a doctor, after all, and they don't exactly make pennies on the dollar like paramedics do.

The buzzer rings twice before it clicks, breaking Clarke's train of thought, and she enters through the lobby and into the elevator, pushing the button for the 31st floor - five floors down from the penthouse.

_Damn._

Before she knocks on door 3151, the number Lexa has texted her, Clarke takes a second to fluff up her hair, check her breath, use the front-facing camera on her phone to check her teeth - and knocks.

Except it's not Lexa who opens the door, it's a very small girl, no older than three. Clarke gapes at the child.

"Uh - is - is Lexa here?"

_She's got a kid. The doctor has a kid. Of course! Of course she has a kid. There had to be some kind of catch. Fuck -_

The girl looks up at Clarke, her head tilting. "Lexa?"

Clarke blinks as someone comes from behind the child - an older man, tall, broad, and bald.

"Hi there," he says, raising his eyebrow. "Can I help you?"

_A husband?_

"Yeah, sorry, I'm -" Clarke shakes her head. "Is Lexa home?"

There's a pause, and then a smile appears on the man's face. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but there's the sound of a door opening right behind Clarke. She swivels around to see the door across the hall from this one open, Lexa's head poking out first, then the door opens fully and she steps forward, an entertained glow in her eyes. She's wearing a fashionable pair of black Nike joggers and a t-shirt, a far cry from the smart casual wear Clarke had seen her in thus far.

"Clarke?"

Clarke looks at Lexa, then back at the man, then back at Lexa. Then, she quickly pulls out her phone to go to Lexa's text.

_3152\. Not 3151. Jesus._

Clarke closes her eyes, blood rushing to her face. "I am so sorry," she says to the man, raising her hands before hiding her face in them. "Apparently I don't know how to read."

She feels Lexa's soft hands pull her arms down, and her eyes open to see bright green ones sparkling back at her. Clarke feels a rush of heat and affection flow from her head downwards.

"Sorry about that, Lincoln, hi Mady," Lexa says to the man, and he laughs, picking up his child.

"All good. 'Night, Lexa. Nice to meet you," Lincoln says to Clarke, nodding his head at her, and she gives him a sheepish wave goodbye as he turns and closes his door.

She turns back to Lexa, chuckling. "I think I got double vision when you texted me and I misread the address. This is so awkwa -"

Clarke doesn't get her sentence out before Lexa's lips press against hers with a certain kind of ferocity, and she takes a second to steady herself before she's kissing Lexa back, her hand moving up to the right side of Lexa's face, her hand sliding back into her hair.

They stumble into Lexa's apartment, and it almost feels like a replay of their first night — except this time, it's Lexa pushing Clarke against her door to shut it, her tongue sliding into Clarke's mouth. Clarke feels the warmth in her stomach start to flood downwards again, her breathing growing heavier by the second, and her tongue meets Lexa's, a moan rumbling deep in her throat. She hears her phone fall out of her other hand and clatter to the ground, but doesn't take even a second to process it, instead using her new free hand to slide up Lexa's shirt.

"Fuck, I've been thinking about this all week," Lexa moans. Clarke uses this as encouragement to push herself off the door and whirl the two of them around, Lexa letting out a surprised grunt before moving her jaw up to allow Clarke access to her neck. Clarke licks up the side of Lexa's throat and bites at the skin on Lexa's pulse point, eliciting a sharp cry from Lexa.

"Me too," Clarke breathes, running her tongue along the new reddened skin to soothe it. 

They're a mess of tongue and teeth as Lexa pushes them backwards and maneuvers them towards what Clarke can only assume is her bedroom, an assumption confirmed when the back of her knees hit a mattress and she falls backwards onto the bed. Clarke moves herself upwards to rest her head on Lexa's pillows, and Lexa doesn't waste a second before she's crawling up the length of Clarke's body. The room is dimly lit and Clarke is entirely conscious of how fucking turned on she is already.

Clarke feels Lexa's thigh settle in between her own and she can tell she's already close to the edge - just from _making out, Jesus Fucking Christ_ \- as she tugs at Lexa's shirt, desperately needing to feel more of Lexa's skin on her own. 

Lexa leans back and sits on her knees as she pulls her shirt off in one movement, and Clarke very much notes that she is not wearing a bra.

She's about to make a stupid quip about it but then Lexa's pulling Clarke up to make her do the same. Clarke's shirt comes off and she's barely opened her eyes before Lexa reaches around and unhooks her bra, her head tilting downward to capture Clarke's lips on her own. Clarke falls back down onto the mattress and Lexa's lips are at her ear, biting down on her earlobe and tugging gently. 

Clarke lets out a whimper and Lexa pulls back, moving down to undo the button of Clarke's jeans, and Clarke is already starting to see stars. She raises her hips up, thinking Lexa's about to pull just her pants off, but she feels her underwear come off as well in one fluid motion.

The sudden absence of material against her skin is mildly startling, and Clarke lets out a moan as Lexa moves back up to kiss her soundly, tongue back in Clarke's mouth.

Clarke's about to beg Lexa for _some_ kind of pressure against her, she can _feel_ how wet she is, she needs it _now now now -_

And suddenly Lexa's two fingers are sliding through her folds to cover them in Clarke's arousal and pushing _deep_ inside of her.

Clarke's hips jerk upward and her eyes widen for a split second before slamming shut as Lexa's fingers curl inside of her, helplessly letting out a guttural moan.

" _Fffuck,"_ she says harshly, and Lexa moans, her forehead against Clarke's, thrusting in and out of her fully, fingers curling in _just the right spot,_ and Clarke can swear her eyes are starting to water at how good it is. 

Lexa tilts her head down to suck at Clarke's neck, almost certainly leaving a mark, but Clarke's only considering this for a second because Lexa is _kissingsuckingbiting_ her way down Clarke's body, fingers pumping in and out, and Clarke's hands fist into Lexa's sheets. She feels Lexa's mouth wrap around her left nipple, her warm and wet tongue lapping at the hard nub, and Clarke feels as though she might explode at the sensory overload. She lets out cries every time she feels Lexa's long fingers curl inside of her, her orgasm building and building and building, and she's _so close_ but she needs more to come - but she can't find the sense within her to say anything, only moaning and saying _yesyesyes_ as Lexa fucks her, Clarke only growing wetter and wetter, her eyes starting to see stars.

Lexa's head is back at Clarke's, resting it on Clarke's shoulder and panting, sweat beading at her forehead, and Clarke can't get enough of Lexa inside of her. She can barely breathe with how good it all feels, her breath coming out in short, loud bursts. Clarke untwists one of her hands to fist it in Lexa's hair, tugging upwards, and Lexa's head rises, her mouth slightly open, green eyes hooded, looking almost surprised at the aggression in which Clarke pulls her up. Lexa's hand slows in apparent hesitation.

"I want you to make me come, I'm so fucking close, I need your mouth," Clarke groans, and the surprised look in Lexa's eyes turns into a dark one as she nods, her fingers picking up speed again. Clarke pushes her head back into the pillows as she feels Lexa kissing her way down the length of Clarke's torso, and Lexa doesn't take even a second to tease, her lips encircling Clarke's clit and sucking.

" _Ah, fuck, fuck,"_ Clarke whines as she feels that familiar burning feeling start in her stomach and thighs, coming in closer towards her center, Lexa's tongue circling her clit while she sucks on it. Lexa moans soundly and Clarke moves her hands down to twist them in Lexa's hair and move them out of the way, and she looks down at the woman between her thighs. Lexa's eyes flit open and up to make eye contact with Clarke, and Clarke starts breathing heavily.

"I'm gonna come," she groans, and Lexa nods slightly, closing her eyes again and continuing her tongue's movements, except this time, slightly harder. "I'm gonna come, I'm gonna -"

Clarke's eyes screw shut and her head slams down against the pillow, back arching, her vision going black and white and starry, fire coursing through her veins. Lexa moans as Clarke cries out, her legs tensing up and toes curling as she rides out what she's absolutely convinced is the best orgasm she's ever had, and Lexa doesn't seem to have much intention of slowing down her movements.

After a few moments, Clarke literally pulls Lexa's head off of her and her entire body feels boneless and flat, and Lexa's fingers slow before stopping completely. Clarke feels her body twitch slightly when she pulls them out, Lexa rolling over beside her.

"Holy fuck," Clarke breathes, and Lexa lets out a chuckle. 

"You are incredibly fucking sexy," Lexa says, reaching over to her nightstand and pulling out a tissue from the box and wiping her fingers off. 

Clarke takes a second to catch her breath, but it's not long before she's reaching over to take Lexa's face in her hands and kiss her. Lexa moans into her mouth and their tongues meet again, Clarke tasting herself on Lexa's lips. She wants to turn them over and move on top of Lexa, but her arms feel unbelievably weak after her orgasm. An idea flashes through her head, and she pulls back from Lexa.

"Sit on my face," she says abruptly, and Lexa's eyebrows move upwards, hesitating for a moment before she bites her lip and nods. She rolls onto her back, shimmying herself out of her joggers, and kisses Clarke again, moving over top of her, her legs straddling the sides of Clarke's waist, and Clarke immediately registers the sudden wetness on her stomach and moans. 

They kiss like that for a long time, mouths melding against the other, Lexa starting to shift back and forth on Clarke's stomach, and Clarke can't take it anymore - she roughly pulls Lexa's thighs upwards and with a gasp, Lexa shuffles up and places her knees on either side of Clarke's head.

"This okay?" Lexa says, gripping both her hands on her headboard. Clarke only nods and pulls Lexa in towards her, her mouth making sound contact with Lexa's wetness, and Lexa cries out when Clarke swipes her tongue between her folds, loving the way she tastes and feels. She pushes her tongue as deep as she can inside of Lexa's opening and Lexa lets out a slew of cuss words from above her, her hips starting to sway involuntarily against Clarke's mouth. 

Clarke continues lapping at Lexa's opening and then starts lavishing the area around her clit, not quite putting pressure on it yet, and Lexa grunts in frustration.

"I didn't tease you, this isn't fair," Lexa moans, and Clarke lets out a soft chuckle and groans in assent, her mouth covering Lexa's clit.

"Shit," Lexa says through what sounds like gritted teeth, her head falling forward and resting against the black headboard, and she starts moving her hips back and forth against Clarke's mouth. Clarke pushes her tongue in the opposite direction of where Lexa's hips move, back and forth, back and forth, and Lexa's movements start to grow more and more erratic as she comes closer to the edge. Clarke grips Lexa's thighs in approval and ignores the soreness starting in her jaw as she works harder to keep up with Lexa's momentum, and she moans loudly against Lexa when she feels her let go and come, her wetness running down and around Clarke's mouth, her legs starting to shake. Lexa holds her breath for a moment as the orgasm washes over her, and lets go with a shaky, deep groan. Clarke gently licks against Lexa, coaxing her down, and Lexa's groaning turns into panting as her movements against Clarke's mouth slow to a stop.

Lexa swings her leg over and makes her way down to the bed, lying flat on her back, eyes closed and her hair sticking to her face with sweat. After the two take a moment to cool down, Lexa opens her eyes and rolls her head over to look at Clarke.

"You done?"

Clarke smirks. "Not even a little bit."

"Good. Me neither," Lexa breathes, propping herself up on her elbow, leaning into an open mouthed kiss.

*

It's almost 4AM by the time they've worn themselves out, Lexa's arm flung over Clarke's stomach haphazardly, beginning to fall asleep. Clarke looks around Lexa's room, a sleek, chic bedroom with a walk-in closet and a surprising amount of photos taped across from her closet. She looks over to her side to see a framed photo on the side table, a photo of Lexa, a dark-haired woman, and the man Clarke accidentally knocked on the door of - Lincoln. The child, Mady, is crying in the photo, and they're all laughing.

"This is cute," she murmurs.

Lexa lets out an inquisitive "hmph?" and lifts her head from Clarke's shoulder, sleepy eyes following Clarke's to the framed photo. There's a moment of silence before Lexa's nestling back into Clarke's shoulder. "Lincoln is my best friend."

"You live across the hall from your best friend?"

Lexa chuckles, her eyes still closed, and Clarke can't help but watch as her full lips curl up into a smile. It would be a downright crime for anyone to not admit that Lexa Woods is _incredibly_ beautiful. "It was honestly a total accident. He's the older brother of -" Lexa pauses, and sighs. "This is going to sound weird, but...he's the older brother of my ex. My ex-wife."

Clarke looks back at the photo, at the other woman by Lexa's side. _She has a photo of her ex-wife at her bedside?_

She's had one rule through all of the people she's slept with since Finn - don't ask questions. But it would take a superhuman to keep quiet during times like these. 

"Ex-wife, hey?" she murmurs. Lexa shrugs, and sighs, Clarke feeling the warmth of her breath on her neck. Lexa tilts her head up and looks at Clarke, a strange something in her eyes that Clarke can't quite identify.

"I'm really tired," she says softly, brushing a strand of hair out of Clarke's face. "You wore me out."

Clarke notes the change in topic and nods, feeling stupid for asking. She barely knows this woman. She doesn't have to know her. It's fine.

"Want me to head home?" she says, and Lexa seems to take a moment to pause and think, which is the opposite of what Clarke was silently hoping for.

"I have a shift that starts in - " Lexa turns over to look at the clock on her wall. "-four hours. I don't want to ruin your sleep."

_You wouldn't ruin my sleep, I have a shift that starts in six_ is what Clarke wants to say, but she doesn't. She knows what Lexa is doing - she's done it to others, herself - and she feels a twinge of disappointment poking at her heart. Lexa seems to notice this, and her eyes widen slightly.

"Ah, god, I'm sorry," she says, sighing. "That's - I'm not saying I don't want you to stay over -"

"It's fine, Lexa," Clarke says, making her voice sound as reassuring as possible, "It's a little early for sleepovers, anyway, and I have to get back to my - Toby."

"I stayed over at yours last time."

"You don't have a high-maintenance dog here. Unless you do, and you've been holding out on me."

The humour seems to relax Lexa slightly, and she chuckles. "No, no dog here. I'm more of a part-time dog lover. No time to give one my full attention."

"Fair enough," Clarke says, stretching and sitting up, scanning the bed and the bedroom floor for her underwear and clothes. 

"Let me at least walk you to your car," Lexa says, mirroring Clarke's movements. Clarke gently places a hand on Lexa's thigh.

"Don't worry about it," she says, smiling. "I'll just see you soon, okay?"

Lexa places her hand on top of Clarke's, and tugs at it, pulling Clarke in for another kiss. It's soft, almost overbearingly tender, and Clarke sighs into it. 

"I'll see you soon," Lexa says. Clarke hops around Lexa's room, putting her clothes back on, and Lexa walks her to her front door. 

Clarke steps out and hears the door close behind her. There's the sound of the lock clicking.

She's never felt quite so bothered by the sound of a lock clicking before.


	4. Lexa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which lexa and clarke, in their typical style, fuck too much n talk too little

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> clexa are canon soulmates :) we already knew but now we extremely know :) here's another chapter of this fic that i am fully intending to add plot to but rn they are just so damn thirsty.  
> T

**3 days later**

Lexa is speed-walking to OR unit 1. There’s been a shooting somewhere south of Petersborough St.

Dr. Indra Asfaw briefs her as they walk, Lexa flipping through her clipboard. “He’s had the wound for a few days now. Paramedics were called to the motel he was hiding in. Didn’t want to go to the hospital because he didn’t want to deal with cops.”

“Fair enough,” Lexa grumbles, furious as usual at archaic American laws, a government that would rather have critically injured people die because of their fear of law enforcement rather than heal and be rehabilitated. “Impact points?”

Indra checks the file. “Left arm, right leg below the knee. Necrosis already setting into the leg. Amputation looking likely.”

“Has he been conscious at all?” Lexa asks.

Another nurse pipes up. “Briefly, doctor, when he was first picked up by the paramedics.”

Lexa vaguely wonders to herself if Clarke Griffin was the one who was called to this emergency, and blinks hard, remembering where she is and inhaling deeply. She chugs some water, takes her watch off, drags her hair into a tight ponytail, starts to scrub in. Dr. Roan Gelus is getting latex gloves pulled over his hands by a resident, barking orders at the poor kid to help him tie his gown. He makes eye contact with Lexa and nods solemnly.

Despite their rivalry, there’s no room for unpleasantries in the OR. Unpleasantries means spite, spite means mistakes, mistakes mean death.

Lexa gets suited in her cap, a mask and gloves and strides into the room, Roan close behind. The casualty is rolled in by the ER residents.

“Okay, onto the table, please,” she commands. They transfer the man from the gurney, careful to not disturb anything already attached to this body. The man is pallid, his chest heaving with uneven breaths.

 _He’s hemorrhaging. Shock,_ Lexa thinks to herself begrudgingly.

“God damn motherfucking idiot guns,” Roan mutters, examining the leg wound while Lexa examines the arm. “Give me a broken arm any day. Not this bullshit. _Sorry you got your leg blown off by someone and you didn’t want to call the cops and now you’re gonna wake up with no leg._ Unbelievable.”

Lexa merely nods in agreement.

-

The surgery takes 6 hours, and the man’s leg was successfully amputated. _Is it successful if it’s an amputation?_

Lexa sighs in the break room, leaning back against the couch, head bent up towards the ceiling. Roan, as per usual, is telling a long-winded, overly-detailed story; something about his mountain biking escapades from the weekend. Neither her nor Gus are paying attention.

Indra stops in and addresses Lexa, setting a folder on the coffee table in front of her. “Dr. Woods, patient file.”

“Let me know when he wakes up, please,” she says, giving Indra a half-smile, who merely nods and walks out.

She checks her phone, almost an unconscious, robotic movement.

Nothing. Definitely not from Clarke.

She can’t help but wince internally when she thinks of the way their night ended. It’s not that she didn’t want Clarke to stay over. She really did. She wanted Clarke to stay over and fuck Lexa like that a few more times, maybe stay up talking all night like they did their first time…

But not about her ex wife, for God’s sake.

Lexa wishes there was some Bailey’s in her coffee right about now.

She remembers the instinctual twinge of anxiety that flared in her stomach the minute that she realized what photo Clarke had been looking at. Lexa had never had anyone ask her about the photo before. To a normal eye, it was a photo of a nice family, some friends, maybe cousins at most - no one thought twice about it. Why had Clarke thought twice about it —

“What?”

Lexa blinks at the sudden voice beside her and realizes that Gus is speaking to her. Roan scoffs at the obvious interruption of his story and saunters out. Thank god.

“What, what?” Lexa asks, sipping at her coffee and raising an eyebrow.

Gus shakes his head in confusion. “You just let out a very deep sigh. Like, deep.”

“Oh.” Lexa can’t say she noticed. _I need a better fucking poker face._ “Yeah. Just tired.”

They both jump slightly at the noise coming from Lexa’s pocket. Rising and taking one last sip of the world’s shittiest coffee, likely extracted from tree bark rather than coffee beans, Lexa shrugs on her lab coat and is out the door, reaching for her pocket to check her pager.

-

The second time she checks her phone, this time after a routine appendectomy, Lexa’s on her fourth cup of hot bean water and there’s a message from Clarke.

 **Clarke** You free right now?

It sounds awfully casual to receive a text like this from someone who Lexa had kicked out of her apartment barely 3 nights ago. A flush creeps from the back of her neck, part dread, part excitement at what this could possibly be about.

 **Lexa** Just finished my rounds, heading home soon. What’s up?

 **Clarke** Come to the station. I need to talk to you about something.

 **Lexa** Be there in 30?

 **Clarke** Okay.

-

Lexa takes a world-record fast shower in the locker room and rummages around her cubby to throw on a loose-fitted black t-shirt and jeans, stumbling around as she puts her shoes on while simultaneously trying to towel dry her hair. After deliberating for about 30 seconds, she decides to put on mascara and light lip gloss.

_Clarke’s going to chew me out for being horrible to her that night._

Might as well try to look good while she’s on the receiving end of it all.

Lexa thinks of all of the explanations she could possibly give to Clarke, but nothing comes to mind that doesn’t immediately paint her as the grieving widow deserving of everyone’s pity. Nothing that makes any sense to communicate to a woman she’s fucked once. Twice. A few times. Many times, actually.

 _Sorry, I was tired._ Terrible.

 _Sorry, I was grumpy after my shift._ Worse.

Sorry, m _y ex-wife and I had a fight we had about alcoholism and she dropped dead of a heart attack while I wasn’t home because I stormed out to get a drink._

Yeah, no. She’d rather go with grumpy.

-

She sets a brisk pace towards the station, inhaling deeply once before opening the glass paned doors. Two lackeys sit at computers near the back and look up in surprise. They look young.

The tall brunette guy speaks first. “Hi?”

“Hi,” Lexa says, slightly breathless. “Here to see Clarke Griffin.”

The brunette looks at his colleague sitting beside him. “What’s the occasion?”

Lexa realizes in this moment that she’s a complete stranger bursting into a paramedic station, asking these people to summon a colleague with zero prior knowledge of who Lexa even is. She shakes her head.

“I’m sorry,” she concedes, rummaging around in her pocket to get her ID card and holding it up, “I’m Dr. Lexa Woods, I work in the OR at Ark.”

“Oh, shit!” the brunette exclaims, “Yeah! I’ve heard of you. My name’s Jasper, this is Monty,” he points to the black-haired man beside him, who waves with a big grin. “Clarke was expecting you earlier I think —“

And, as if on cue, the door next to them opens. Clarke appears wearing a navy Ark Paramedic t-shirt, the jacket haphazardly slung around her shoulder. _God, she is unreasonably hot,_ Lexa thinks to herself, almost begrudgingly. She feels like she’s 21 with a crush on a girl who’s in one of her first-year classes.

“Hey,” Clarke greets Lexa, looking at Jasper and Monty. She barely makes eye contact with Lexa. _Shit. I’m in trouble._ “Did these guys give you a hard time?”

“Not at all,” Lexa says, smiling slightly. She sees Jasper and Monty give each other an indiscernible look before turning back to their computers.

“Here, come in,” Clarke says, gesturing for Lexa to go first into the living space of the paramedics. It’s clean, quiet other than the radio playing gently somewhere, and empty, minus a black-haired man playing what seems to be an incredibly immersive game of Red Dead Redemption.

Clarke keeps walking through the halls, not saying anything, and Lexa’s heart is starting to race a little. _What’s this all about? What’s about to happen?_

“Is everything okay?” Lexa says tentatively, as Clarke continues to walk.

“Yep,” Clarke says, not looking back. “One sec, just need to hang up my jacket.”

Clarke heads into the nap room, Lexa fidgeting outside of it, and is out just as fast, continuing to walk down the hallway. Lexa follows. This is fucking killing her. Clarke opens another door to their right, and Lexa registers that it’s a bathroom door.

“What are you —“

Suddenly, Lexa feels her back being rather aggressively slammed against the wall of the Ark paramedic station bathroom. The wind gets slightly knocked out of her and she widens her eyes, finally meeting Clarke’s.

“Everyone else in the station is out on a call right now,” she murmurs, her fingers already starting to unbutton the top of Lexa’s jeans. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you all day. Since the last time we saw each other.”

 _Does this mean it’s all good? What the f-_ Lexa doesn’t have a chance to finish much of the thought before Clarke’s mouth is on hers, hot and wet and feverish. It takes a few seconds before Lexa’s mind finally goes blank, her hands reaching up to both sides of Clarke’s face, allowing the entrance of Clarke’s tongue in her mouth and letting out a soft moan.

Clarke pulls away, her mouth now close to Lexa’s ear, the warm breath making Lexa’s eyes close involuntarily.

“Quiet,” Clarke whispers, “Bellamy can get really into his video games but I’m not about to test out the limits of that.”

Lexa nods frantically and leans her head back, closing her eyes and tightening her lips together to stifle a moan when Clarke’s mouth latches on to her pulse point. She’s since unbuttoned and unzipped Lexa’s pants, and doesn’t seem to have any intention of taking them off past that, considering her hand is already starting to make its way underneath the waistline of her jeans.

“Shit,” Lexa hisses when she feels the tips of Clarke’s fingers brush against her underwear, the pad of her middle finger dragging along her covered slit.

“I’ll stop if you don’t keep quiet.” Clarke’s voice is now aggressive as her other hand comes up to cover Lexa’s mouth. Lexa nods again, one of her hands now gripping Clarke’s wrist tight, pushing it further inside of her jeans.

“I’ll be quiet,” Lexa breathes, and Clarke takes that as a queue to move her hand up from Lexa’s panties and inside them, her fingers brushing through damp curls.

“Jesus,” Clarke sighs. Lexa almost has to strain to hear her, but she knows what’s happening; she can feel the absolute lack of resistance when Clarke’s middle finger circles her opening. She’s already _so wet_ that it would be embarrassing if not for the look of absolute unbridled lust in Clarke’s dark eyes when their eyes meet again. Clarke’s finger continues its movements, gathering wetness before moving it up to Lexa’s clit.

Lexa takes a sharp inhale, drawing her bottom lip in to bite so hard she worries she might make herself bleed.

“Hold on to me,” Clarke says in Lexa’s ear.

Lexa doesn’t have to think twice before both of her arms are holding Clarke close, trapping her arm between them. Clarke doesn’t stop circling her finger and Lexa can already feel pressure building up in the bottom of her stomach. Holy fuck. _What is happening?_

She feels her hips involuntarily push towards Clarke’s hand. There’s no need to say anything. Clarke already knows. Her middle finger swipes down from her clit and is slipping deep inside of her, curling against her front wall. Her thrusts are shallowed, measured, it’s everything Lexa needs. Lexa has to lean her head down, feeling loud moans itching at her throat but only releasing them as small whimpers, Clarke’s heavy breathing only serving as fuel for the fire threatening to overtake Lexa.

Lexa doesn’t know anything anymore, she doesn’t even quite remember her name as Clarke fucks her with fervor. Lexa feels her adding a second finger in and grinding the heel of her palm against her clit, lavishing Lexa’s neck with tongue, teeth, lips, winding her other hand in the back of Lexa’s hair to pull her into a deep kiss. Once their lips meet, Lexa feels the hand slide from her hair to her neck, tightening and untightening around the sides of her throat, and Lexa can’t fucking get enough.

Clarke reaches her hand up from Lexa’s throat and caresses the side of her head, moving her lips back, her thumb tracing Lexa’s swollen bottom lip.

Lexa takes this opportunity to move her head to take Clarke’s thumb into her mouth, sucking and lavishing her tongue against the pad of her fingertip, and she opens her eyes to meet Clarke’s, hooded, dark, her lips slightly parted.

“God,” Clarke whispers. Lexa’s actions seem to egg her on even more as she removes her thumb from Lexa’s mouth with a pop and moves her hand down, roughly hoisting Lexa’s left leg to wrap around Clarke’s waist. Clarke adjusts her position slightly, her movements halting for a split second, and Lexa doesn’t even get a chance to process that she’s stopped when Clarke’s palm goes flush against her clit again, rubbing it with every hard thrust of her fingers.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Lexa breathes with each thrust, her head starting to spin, losing strength in her right leg, her fingernails digging so deep into Clarke’s back that she can hear Clarke let out a small hiss of pain. “Fuck, Clarke, I’m gonna-“

“I’ve got you,” Clarke whispers into Lexa’s ear, “Let go. _Quietly._ ”

Lexa comes and barely can stifle the moan starting deep in her belly, drawing in a deep breath to fuel her climax. She’s still for a moment as everything comes crashing down all at once and suddenly she’s juddering and squeezing her eyes shut, completely unsure if she can keep quiet anymore. Clarke presses her lips against Lexa’s, holding her up with one arm while continuing to fuck Lexa down from her orgasm with the other.

She starts seeing stars and grips on to the other woman as tight as she can until she starts to jerk with sensitivity, Clarke gently withdrawing her fingers.

They stand like that for a few moments, breathing heavily, Lexa’s forehead still resting against Clarke’s shoulder. The air feels thick and humid.

Lexa’s head clears and she becomes cognizant of the need emanating from the other woman, still panting slightly in her ear, shifting slightly. She pulls her head back, meeting Clarke’s hooded eyes, and tilts her head slightly to go in for a kiss —

And a siren sounds overhead, cutting through the moment like a hot, sharp knife.

“Oh my _fucking_ god,” Clarke mutters, pulling back from Lexa and rushing to the bathroom sink, washing her hands. The PA starts listing off codes, Clarke listening intently, and Lexa finds herself mesmerized at how she’s managed to go from a woman mercilessly fucking her against a bathroom wall to a complete professional. Clarke looks at Lexa.

“Do you want to stay back here while I take this? Sounds like a pretty standard MVA.”

“I -“ Lexa starts, and Clarke’s already pulling the door to step outside. She takes a second, turning back to Lexa, then back at the door, then Lexa again.

“Be nice if you stayed,” Clarke says, almost imperceptibly. Lexa nods.

“I’ll be here.”

-

It’s nearly 10PM, almost an hour since Clarke left with Bellamy, and Lexa is on the couch watching reruns of Friends on the station television that someone had left on. She can hear Jasper and Monty in the other room laughing raucously, and smiles to herself. There’s a stark difference between the atmosphere in the station and the OR lounge; it feels…younger. Less stoic. Less like there is a need for strict professionalism.

Lexa stands, stretching sore limbs, and begins to wander through the station, past the kitchen, past the locker rooms, and finds herself peering into the nap room. There are three bunk beds against each wall minus the entry, and the room is fairly stark minus a few personal belongings of whoever’s currently on shift scattered about. Her eyes stop at the jacket hanging on the bunk bed on the right. GRIFFIN is emblazoned on the left pocket. Clarke’s bunk.

She feels herself gravitating towards the jacket, when suddenly, she hears a commotion outside. _Clarke._

Lexa steps into the living space to see two women who very much _are not_ Clarke walk in.

“Seriously, I’m getting sick of her bullshit,” one of them says, “I don’t get why she’s avoiding me. She barely texts me anymore. This is the fifth time now that she’s made you come with me on a job instead of her.”

“Hey, come on. I’m not that bad to partner with, am I?” the other says.

“No, O, you know I love you —“

They both look at Lexa at the same time and go silent, registering her presence in the room.

Lexa clears her throat, gingerly raising a hand in greeting. “Hi.”

“Doctor lady. Hey.” One of the women extends her hand forward. “I’m Raven Reyes. This is Octavia Blake.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Lexa says politely, shaking both of their hands. “I’m Lexa Woods. But I kind of like the sound of doctor lady.”

Octavia snorts. “Careful. You’re going to be stuck with that one forever.” She turns to see the TV with the paused video game Bellamy had been playing earlier. “Oh, shit! I’m gonna go ruin his game.”

Lexa watches Octavia settle herself on the couch and hit play on the game, and her gaze comes back to Raven, who is still sort of… _staring_ at Lexa in a way that is making her feel like she’s being heavily scrutinized.

“Waiting for Clarke, I’m assuming?” she says, with a half-grin that Lexa really can’t seem to read. She nods, assuming a bit of a better posture. Being a doctor means needing to be good at reading people, and she can read that Raven doesn’t seem to like her one bit.

“Yes. She left about a half hour ago.” _What’s her deal? Is she an ex? A current lover? An arch nemesis?_

“Already waiting around for her at the job, hey?” Raven smirks and turns on her heel, begins walking to the kitchen. “You know what they say about u-hauls, I guess.”

Lexa is stunned. She barely knows Raven, and here she is making presumptions and jokes about hers and Clarke’s relationship. “Excuse me?”

Raven whirls around as if to say something, but then —

“Raven, chill out,” Octavia says, not looking over to them while she furiously hits random buttons on the console. Lexa and Raven give each other hard, unwavering stares, neither of them willing to back down from this silent staring contest, when Bellamy and Clarke come in through the doors. Lexa looks over and Clarke gives her a half smile, a look of something that looks like relief on her face.

_Relief. Strange._

The moment doesn’t last long. Clarke catches on to the tension surrounding Lexa and Raven, and raises an eyebrow. She opens her mouth as if to say something when Bellamy starts with a gasp and half jogs towards his sister.

“Octavia! Are you kidding me? Do you know how long it took for me to fucking catch that horse? Get the fuck out -“

Lexa, Clarke and Raven watch Bellamy and Octavia wrestle for the console for a few moments before Clarke clears her throat.

“Raven. I see you’ve met Lexa.”

“Took long enough.” Raven gives Clarke a hard glance and whirls around, towards the locker rooms. Clarke lets out an audible sigh, turning back to Lexa, who truly, very deeply, is having an incredibly hard time comprehending whatever situation is happening in front of her.

Clarke gives Lexa an apologetic glance. “I’m off now. Want to grab a drink?”

“I — sure.”

-

They go to the same bar from their first - _date? Hang-out? Pre-fuck-foreplay? -_ and Lexa picks at the label on her bottle, urging herself to not slam it in seconds in front of Clarke.

“Sorry about that,” Clarke says, leaning back against her chair and running a hand through her hair. Lexa watches, heat burning her ears when Clarke catches her and smirks. “Raven can get a little…territorial.”

“Are you two -“

“No! God, no,” Clarke says, snorting. “She’s my best friend. We just — we haven’t really been getting along lately.”

Lexa nods, taking a large sip from her bottle.

She won’t pry. She rarely does. But Clarke presses on.

“She just gets really inquisitive when I start — I don’t know — seeing people,” she says, waving her hand vaguely towards Lexa, who raises an eyebrow. Clarke, perceptive as she is, catches it and flounders on. “Not that you and I are seeing each other. Whatever this is. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. You’re someone I’m sleeping with. And I don’t really want to talk to her about it. Not yet.”

Lexa jokingly purses her lips. “Not yet? Are you waiting for a ring?”

Clarke chuckles, seemingly a bit more at ease after the joke. “Actually, yeah. A ring and a new house in the suburbs.”

There’s a pause in conversation as the two women look at each other, Lexa feeling a weird tingle in her hand, as if she wants to reach out and touch the hand Clarke has out on the table. She holds back for the time being.

They start speaking at the same time.

“I wanted to apologize for —“

“Raven just is protective —“

“Sorry. You go.”

“No, no, you go.”

They both laugh. Lexa gestures for Clarke to go ahead.

Clarke shakes her head. “Raven is protective because of some stuff that happened a few years back. She really helped me out through some tough shit that I think she’d rather not deal with again.”

Lexa feels herself freezing slightly at the seemingly benign comment. _It’s an ex. It’s always an ex._

(She won’t pry. She rarely does.)

It’s hard to not ruminate, to wonder, to try to confirm that it’s an ex, but Lexa is mildly terrified at the prospect of the ex conversation when the two women haven’t even known each other for a month yet. She takes a few more sips of her beer, nodding.

Clarke seems to scrutinize her reaction, so Lexa throws her a bone.

“Sorry to hear that,” she says quietly and sincerely. “I’m glad you have someone like her to watch your back. Everyone needs someone like that.”

“Yeah,” Clarke says, biting the inside of her cheek before straightening up. “What were you going to say?”

Lexa chooses her next words carefully. Clarke was possibly about to talk about her ex, and the last thing Lexa wants is to delve into _that_ conversation again.

“I just wanted to apologize for the abrupt end to the last time we…saw each other,” she says. “I was really tired after my shift and I think I let some weird emotions get the best of me.”

Clarke waves her hand. “Ah, it’s alright. It’s my bad for being so freaking intrusive. I think I didn’t have a filter on account of the physical exertion. We don’t have to talk about it.”

Lexa’s shoulders deflate in a relief she didn’t realize she was waiting to feel at Clarke’s nonchalantness. There’s a new feeling that washes over her as the panic subsides. She finishes off the last dregs of her beer.

“I’d like to make it up to you, if that’s alright.”

-

They keep it chaste on the way back to Clarke’s apartment this time, Clarke occasionally touching the small of Lexa’s back when she’s emphasizing a point, Lexa placing her hand on Clarke’s shoulder when Clarke makes one of her short quips.

Even the elevator ride up remains somewhat PG. _Somewhat_ because the space feels far too small for the heat starting to rise in Lexa’s stomach, the undeniable want in Clarke’s eyes as they steal glances at each other, the elevator quietly pinging its way up the stories. Lexa feels Clarke’s hand thread into her own when they reach Clarke’s floor.

“I had a bit of an art night last night so my apartment’s a bit cluttered,” she says sheepishly as she leads them toward her apartment door. Lexa raises her eyebrows in surprise.

“Art night? You’re an artist?”

“Well, yeah, sort of. I’m a hobbyist,” Clarke says, smirking as she lets go of Lexa’s hand to rummage in her pockets for her keys. “Saving lives isn’t my only raison d’être.”

“Wish I could say the same,” Lexa says, half joking, half not. Clarke unlocks her door and there’s the unmistakable sound of paws clattering across hardwood as Toby comes to greet her.

“Hey, buddy,” Clarke says in a baby voice, turning the hallway light on and hanging her key on one of the hooks, kneeling down to give her dog a noogie. Lexa shrugs her jacket off, smiling at the giant dog, and hangs it up beside Clarke’s keys.

“One moment, just have to use the restroom,” Clarke says, walking away, “Think you can handle Toby for a few minutes?”

“If him and I aren’t here when you get back, that’s on you, not me,” Lexa says, and Clarke just laughs.

Toby nuzzles his head into Lexa’s knee and Lexa is glad to oblige, running her fingers through the soft, clean fur on his massive head. She’s impressed at how Clarke manages to keep him so clearly well-groomed. She looks up and into the apartment to see a canvas on an easel positioned in the middle of the living room, a paint-stained drop cloth covering the majority of the ground. There’s the beginning of a rather life-like nude painting of a woman lying on her side, positioned and coloured like a renaissance painting.

Toby gets distracted by what Lexa assumes is a leaf falling from the nearby window. He makes his way to his kennel, seemingly already ready for rest. _Me too, buddy,_ she thinks to herself. Lexa rises on her feet, about to go take a closer look at the easel, when suddenly Clarke is at her side, whirling her around by the shoulders and kissing her soundly. Lexa moans in surprise, but registers what’s happening soon enough, curling her right hand into Clarke’s blonde mane of hair and pulling her close by the waist. They’re breathing hotly into each others mouths, Clarke licking into Lexa shamelessly and beginning to undo her belt. Lexa reaches down and stops her frenetic hands.

“Wait,” she breathes. Clarke pulls back immediately, concern furrowing her eyebrow. “I need to repay you for today’s bathroom stint.”

Clarke nods, a half-smile on her lips ( _God, she’s sexy,_ Lexa thinks to herself), and reaches down to pull her own shirt off, grabbing at the hem of Lexa’s shirt next. Lexa happily obliges. She reaches down, picking up Clarke by the waist, when she pushes off of Lexa.

“No. Fuck me here,” she gasps, undoing her pants. Lexa can’t do anything but nod, helping Clarke out of them, and she hardly processes any further movements until they’re both on the ground.

Lexa kisses Clarke again, grabbing at the newly-bared skin of Clarke’s thighs. _Clarke’s thighs._ Soft, full, pale, she wants to kiss her way down and pull Clarke apart like she did to Lexa in the paramedic station. Clarke obediently tilts her chin up and to the side when Lexa nudges with her nose to graze her teeth over her pulse point.

“I want to taste you,” Lexa breathes into Clarke’s ear, half asking for permission, half making a statement. Clarke bites her bottom lip so hard that Lexa’s worried she’ll draw blood, and she nods.

“Yes. Please. God, please.”

Lexa quickly makes her way down Clarke’s body, stopping to lave at each nipple for a begrudgingly short time, as if she’s worried one of their pagers will go off before she has a chance to repay the favor (which, given their track record so far, is more than a possibility). Clarke arches into Lexa’s mouth as she pinches and rolls one nipple while running a hot, wet tongue along the other.

She leaves wet kisses down Clarke’s stomach until she reaches her underwear, greedily pulling them off and throwing them off to the side.

Lexa could tease, but she doesn’t, roughly pulling Clarke’s knees further apart, spreading her, and swipes her tongue hard through Clarke’s soaked folds.

“Fuck!” Clarke almost _shouts_ and there’s a part of Lexa worried that she’ll disturb Toby, but there’s no activity from the corner of the room that he’s settled down in. She settles in between Clarke’s thighs, the cold hardwood causing goosebumps to rise on her skin. Clarke’s hand shoots between her legs to grasp at Lexa’s hair, pulling it away from her face. Lexa looks up to see that Clarke is propped up on one elbow, watching Lexa intently, mouth half open as she breathes heavily.

If she wants a show, Lexa will give her a show.

She moans into Clarke’s core, the hand in her hair tightening in approval, as she angles her head to push her tongue deep inside of her, not breaking eye contact with Clarke once. She curls her tongue in and out as hard as she can, tasting Clarke fully, ignoring the ache in her jaw that begins after a few particularly hard pushes, moving her left hand up above Clarke’s clit to pull and spread her even wider.

Clarke’s eyes are fluttering as she breathes heavily, little whines escaping out of pressed lips, her walls clenching against Lexa’s tongue. Lexa moves her thumb to start gently pressing circles into Clarke’s clit, and that is the beginning of Clarke’s undoing.

“ _Oh my god,”_ Clarke gasps, seemingly now too weak to hold herself up, falling back as her second hand comes down to mirror her first.

Lexa starts to press infinitesimally harder against Clarke’s clit, continuing her tongue’s movements, and she feels Clarke’s entire body tense and Clarke goes momentarily silent, her body shaking slightly as the orgasm overtakes her, her walls pulling Lexa’s tongue in further. Lexa moans at the sensation and Clarke lets go with a wail, her fluids trickling into Lexa’s mouth.

She withdraws after a few strokes guiding Clarke down from her orgasm, her jaw almost numb at this point, as she starts licking around Clarke’s folds, lapping up the last of her slick. Clarke’s hands loosen slightly around Lexa’s hair, shivering when Lexa hits a few particularly sensitive parts. Lexa’s tongue brushes against Clarke’s clit in a silent permission, and she looks up. Clarke raises her head wearily, nodding once before bringing her head back down.

“Gentle,” she whispers, guiding Lexa’s head slightly above her swollen bud. Lexa laps at the hood of Clarke’s clit lightly, the sensitivity still causing Clarke’s legs to shake, but Clarke doesn’t stop her.

It’s a few light, hot, wet strokes that undo Clarke again, her orgasm this time slightly more subdued and shorter this time but still sends another rush of heat between Lexa’s legs, where she’s throbbing.

“ _Fuck,_ Lex,” Clarke breathes. Lexa chuckles as she kisses her way back up Clarke’s now-sweat-slicked skin.

“Was that a good apology?” she says, kissing Clarke, who lightly grazes her tongue around Lexa’s lips, tasting herself.

“Best I’ve ever gotten,” Clarke groans, fisting her hands back into Lexa’s hair.

Lexa stays the night, this time.


	5. Clarke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> helloooooOOoooo again!!!
> 
> good news, i have a fully 100% fleshed out plot ready to go! you'll notice i put in a total number of chapters which is my promise to you that this fic will be finished within a reasonable period of time. to be totally honest, i tend to start writing fics with only a half-baked idea of where i'm going to take it and that's the main reason i never post any, let alone finish them. but for this one, i am feeling goooooood about it. let's gooooo.
> 
> some chapters will be updated way faster than others depending on how creative and write-y i'm feeling on any given week, some might take a little longer, but either way, it will be finished.
> 
> it's been kind of a clarke and lexa thirst-fest so far, but things are going to start getting a bit angsty moving forward. of course they are! it's our girls. what else did we expect. jesus, guys, just communicate, for fucks sake. (chapters go from 10 to 1) (jk)
> 
> thank u so much for all your comments and kudos, they are the #1 thing that keeps me going and writing, so pls pls feel free to keep leaving them even if it's just to tell me u like it or don't like it or to tell me what u had for breakfast today. massively motivating.
> 
> enjoi :*

Clarke wakes the next morning and sees Lexa’s sleeping figure, replaying the events of last night in her head. Drinking aged bourbon and wine in bed between earth-shattering orgasms. Getting sloppier each time, but bolder.

Lexa’s chest rises and falls with each breath, her mouth ever so slightly open, chestnut hair splayed across Clarke’s pillows. She runs a finger along the length of Lexa’s hair, feeling the familiar burn at the bottom of her stomach as last night’s events continue to replay through a rather detailed reel in her brain.

She starts slowly, tracing down the length of Lexa’s nose, across her lips, and eventually makes her way down her neck, splaying her hand softly at Lexa’s sternum. Lexa begins to stir, and Clarke grins at the sight; there’s a certain kind of quiet, peaceful atmosphere in her bedroom; it’s just her and Lexa, Toby snoring on the floor at the end of her bed. Domesticity is something she’s always loved, regardless of who it’s with, platonic or romantic.

She thinks of mornings with her mother, smelling coffee and running down to gulp some down before heading to school. Mornings after going clubbing with Raven, Raven snoring loudly on Clarke’s couch as she cooks up the greasiest breakfast to cure their hangovers. The quiet comfort of co-existing in a space with someone, feeling like you have someone to come home to, whether romantic or platonic. Clarke misses it.

She starts moving her hand slowly down the length of Lexa’s torso, and Lexa lets out a sleepy _mmph_ noise, her eyes fluttering open and meeting Clarke’s.

“Good morning,” she says, her voice thick with sleep.

“Morning,” Clarke whispers, running her fingers along and down Lexa’s soft stomach. “I got bored of waiting for you to wake up.”

Lexa grins. “You’re insatiable.”

“Who said anything about satiating anything?”

“The hand currently making its way down my body, I think,” Lexa says, her eyes becoming heavy lidded as she pokes her tongue out to wet her lips.

Clarke grins, continuing her journey downward. Lexa’s eyelids flutter when Clarke makes it past coarse hairs, and Clarke is pleased to find Lexa still slick and growing wetter as she swipes her finger through her folds.

“Clarke,” Lexa breathes, closing her eyes, but within five seconds, she reaches down to stop Clarke’s movements. “What time is it?”

“Seriously?”

“I — we both have work.”

“It’s eight in the morning. I don’t work until noon, and you don’t work until three. You told me last night.” Clarke continues her ministrations on Lexa and Lexa relaxes visibly.

“You have an unbelievably good memory for someone who almost drank me under the table last night,” Lexa groans.

Clarke nuzzles her nose into Lexa’s neck and kisses her way up to Lexa’s mouth, tracing circles around her clit as she kisses her. Lexa starts to whimper and it fuels Clarke’s own arousal in a way that shouldn’t be possible after the marathon they had last night.

“Please,” Lexa begs when they break apart, starting to squirm underneath Clarke.

Clarke stops her movements, grinning cheekily. “Please what?”

“Fuck you,” Lexa moans, reaching down to grab Clarke’s hand, chuckling slightly. “Don’t start something you’re not going to finish -“

Clarke enters her swiftly with two fingers, pushing into Lexa, pumping in and out at a slow pace, and Lexa lets out a cry, arching her back as Clarke continues to fuck her.

When Lexa comes all over Clarke’s hand, Clarke thinks to herself that she could get used to mornings like this.

She won’t. Can’t.

But she could.

*

Lexa crawls up the length of Clarke’s body, leaving sloppy kisses on her torso, and kisses a panting Clarke before slumping down on the bed beside her.

“Honest to god,” Clarke breathes, the remnants of her climax still making the tips of her fingers tingle, “I don’t think I’ve had that much sex in the span of 12 hours in my entire life.”

Lexa props herself up on her shoulder, grinning wide. “Is that a complaint? Because I can hold back —“

Clarke shoots her a glare, and Lexa just chuckles. “Yeah, no. Me neither.”

There’s a beat, and Clarke realizes that her fridge is looking a little sad at the moment, and she ran out of bread yesterday. She’s pretty sure she’s down to her last few dregs of orange juice. Without a thought, she turns over to Lexa.

“Want to grab breakfast? There’s a place around the corner that I’ve been going to since I moved here. Best eggs benedict I’ve ever had, hands down.”

Lexa bites her lip, looks down at the bedsheets. Clarke immediately feels a pang of regret, backtracking as fast as she made the suggestion. “Though I totally get if you need to go home to get ready for your shift.”

“I — Lexa looks up at Clarke, reaching up to stroke blonde hair off a flushed cheek. She shakes her head. “I would love to, but yeah. I’ve got a whole routine before my shifts and don’t want to accidentally, like, leave a scalpel inside a patient because I forgot to put socks on and it threw me off.”

Clarke laughs, realizing quickly that her and Lexa tend to make jokes to escape uncomfortable situations such as this. “I guess you know who to call if that happens.”

“Another surgeon?”

Clarke throws a pillow at Lexa, who giggles and throws it back at Clarke before giving her a long kiss, stretching and getting out of bed. Clark watches her lithe figure collect clothes around the room, tying her hair back, admiring how the morning light in her room illuminates her hair so that it almost looks blonde.

“Hey, Tobes,” Lexa says to the dog presumably still lying down, kneeling down to pet him.

“Stinker! C’mere!” Clarke says, patting the spot that Lexa has left empty. She hears Toby scrambling up and a mass of fur leaps onto her bed, plopping down beside her. “Much better company.”

Lexa scoffs. “Not gonna make the joke.”

Clarke looks up from Toby’s giant head, still ruffling his fur. “The joke?”

“What can I give you that he can’t? I mean, hopefully can’t.”

Lexa’s out the door and laughing when Clarke’s pillow misses her narrowly.

“You’re a disgusting, foul woman,” Clarke calls after Lexa’s retreating figure.

“I know. Have a good day, Clarke.”

The front door clicks shut and Clarke stares up at her ceiling, running her fingers through fur.

Breakfast. Seemingly innocuous, but Clarke is understanding more and more that the “after” part of hers and the doctor’s evenings won’t ever go further than gratuitous morning sex at most.

She’s cool with it.

She really is.

-

Clarke tidies around the house and eats a bowl of cereal at her kitchen counter, scrolling through the news on her phone, when Toby whines beside her.

“Buddy, I just basically did a triathlon,” she says, groaning, and he nudges his nose underneath her arm. Clarke sighs, looks at the clock on her stove. Still two hours left til her shift. “Fine, alright.”

She takes him for a half-hour run, passes by the diner she asked Lexa to go to, and notices a couple sitting by the window, a woman feeding a guy a piece of her waffle with whipped cream. He gets whipped cream on his upper lip, and she wipes it off for him.

Clarke continues running.

-

When she gets back, she checks her phone to see a voicemail from her mom, begrudgingly opening it as she gets ready to shower.

“ _Clarke, I know you want space from me, from us.”_

“And yet you still call,” Clarke mutters, shrugging out of her shirt.

_“But like I texted you the other day, I have news, some really great news, that Marcus and I want to tell you in person. We miss you. I miss you. I understood you not coming to the wedding, I really did. I understood the missed Christmases, the missed birthdays. I’ve been trying to respect your boundaries, but this is getting too far. You’ve disappeared from our lives and it feels as though you don’t care.”_

There’s a vague whispering from the background of the voicemail, probably Marcus saying something. Abby’s voice sounds again.

_“That was harsh, I’m sorry. I know you care. Just — call me back, okay? I love you, sweetie.”_

Clarke steps into the shower, scalding hot.

She doesn’t call Abby back.

-

She gets to the station a few minutes early, coffee in hand, waving hi to Jasper and Monty, seemingly hyper-focused on filling out paperwork. They tend to have competitions to see who can write up documents the fastest, and Clarke’s never been entirely sure what the winning man gets. Either way, their system works. She’s never been one to complain.

When she enters the lounge area, Raven is making herself a grilled cheese, Octavia is studying for one of her pre-med courses, and Bellamy seems to be half asleep on the couch. The station has always felt more like home to Clarke than her own apartment, but lately, with the tension between her and Raven, she’s not so sure if that sentiment stands.

As if Raven has read her mind, without turning from the pan, she says, “Want one?”

“Uh, no, I’m good for now. Thanks.”

There’s a clattering sound and Clarke sees Raven turn the stove off, seemingly having put the spatula down. “We need to talk.”

“Like, now?”

“Like, now.” Raven gives Clarke a hard glance and walks past her, outside through to where Clarke just entered.

Octavia looks at Clarke with an eyebrow raised. “Please go do it. It honest to god feels like when me and B’s parents used to fight.” Bellamy snorts from his corner.

“Worse,” he mutters, eyes still closed.

Clarke lets out a deep sigh and places her bag and coffee down on the stainless steel countertop, following Raven out the door.

Raven is already outside, leaning against the wall closest to the exit, and Clarke stands in front of her. She raises her shoulders.

“I’m not going to pretend like I don’t know what’s going on,” Clarke says, defeated. “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you.”

Raven opens and closes her mouth, seemingly taken aback by Clarke’s frankness, and nods. “You need to tell me what’s going on. The past few weeks have fucking sucked. Did I do something wrong? Did I say something?”

“God, god, no, I’m sorry you felt like that,” Clarke says immediately, shaking her head. “I just - I don’t know. I’ve been having so many feelings about so many things and it’s felt like if I talk about any of it out loud, then they become real. I hide inside my own head. It’s just that it’s all I know how to do, which sounds so goddamn victim-complexy, but it’s true. But that doesn’t mean I can shut you out.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t. But continue.” Raven smirks.

Clarke sighs, and is about to elaborate, but the sirens start going off in the station. MVA.

Clarke looks at Raven, and grins sheepishly. “You and me?”

“Thank god,” Raven groans, punching Clarke lightly in the shoulder as they jog inside. Bellamy and Octavia are already almost out the door.

-

It was doomed from the moment they got there. It’s a three-car pileup in the middle of the highway, and the unfortunate two people who got sandwiched between the cars are declared DOA. Clarke loses her patient in the back of the truck, and Raven solemnly turns her sirens off and slows.

“Time of death, 12:33PM.” Clarke inhales deeply, closing her eyes, the sound of the flatline ringing behind her. “It never fucking gets easier.”

“Shouldn’t have to.”

“Should have become a lawyer.”

Neither of the girls laugh.

-

Clarke and Raven sit in Clarke’s living room. Raven’s lying down, head on top of Toby’s belly like he’s a pillow, glass of wine resting beside her. Clarke’s opted to sit on the floor beside her.

“I missed you a lot,” Clarke admits, after some banter about Raven’s last tryst with an engineer named Wick a few weeks back. They’re both pleasantly buzzed, the day’s tragedy slowly washing away, and Clarke hasn’t felt this at ease in a long time.

“Missed you too,” Raven says, lolling her head towards Clarke. “Bitch.”

The two chuckle, and Raven looks back up at the ceiling, reaching upward to scratch Toby’s chest. “So. Is it the doctor lady?”

Clarke purses her lips. She’d been ready to finally talk to Raven about what’s been going on, but now that she’s here, faced with the actual act, she finds herself already wanting to derail the conversation. Instead, she takes a second, sipping at her wine, centering herself, and finally nods.

“Sort of. I don’t know. All of it. Lexa. My mom keeps trying to get me to come see her. The obvious stress from the job. It’s been a lot, and saying out loud now —“ Clarke inhales deeply, leaning her head back against the wall. “I just didn’t want to make it real.”

“It’s real,” Raven says, sitting up to face Clarke. Toby lets out a whine at the loss of contact, and Raven continues petting him. “Whether you talk about it with me or not. And the fact is, we don’t have to talk about any of it, but I need you to know that I’ve — we’ve — been worried about you.”

Clarke blinks. _We._ “We?”

“The pals at the station. We’re your family, too, you know. It’s hard watching you go through what you do while doing jack shit to help yourself.”

The words are frank, a little harsh, but Clarke nods, feeling a lump start in her throat already. She takes another sip to wash it down.

“And Lexa…” Raven shakes her head. “What’s going on with that?”

“I don’t know,” Clarke says honestly, “We’ve been…sleeping together. It’s only been a few weeks. It’s nothing serious. I think.“

“You’ve never had anyone wait around for you at the station before. Hardly even Finn,” Raven points out.

Clarke nods again, sighing deeply. “It’s early to tell, but I think I like her in a way I haven’t liked someone since Finn. It’s weird, and scary, and I keep finding myself trying to rationalize ways to make sure I don’t catch feelings for her. But honestly, Rae,” she turns her head to Raven, a lopsided grin on her face. “The sex is the best I’ve literally ever had.”

Raven snorts. “God, wish I could relate. I haven’t had good sex in months. That bitch-ass engineer finished in, like, I swear to god, five minutes, then he tried to finger me and then gave up halfway.”

Clarke winces. “Ouch.”

“That’s what I said.” Raven wiggles her fingers at Clarke.

The two girls laugh boisterously, clinking glasses with one another.

There’s a beat, and Raven simmers down, a soft look appearing on her face.

“Do you think she likes you back? The doctor lady.”

Clarke shrugs. “I don’t know. Sometimes, I feel like she does. Other times, it's like she's just bored and I'm there. The first night we had together, she told me a lot about herself and it seemed like it was more than just a one-night hook-up. But lately, it’s just been sex and her abruptly leaving. I don’t know.” Clarke sighs. “Sometimes, she looks like me like she wants to like me. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just seeing things.” She looks at Raven, and then back at Toby. “I don’t know if it’d matter, though. If she did. I keep feeling like I’m ready to be with someone again, and then I start thinking about shit like my job. The fact that I can’t seem to keep up any relationship, friendship or otherwise. I think you and I have only lasted this long as friends because you’re such a clingy little child.”

Raven nearly pushes Clarke over with her foot, and Clarke almost spills her wine. Toby’s head jerks up in surprise.

“Hey!” Clarke yelps, eyes fixated on the wine now precariously sloshing around in her glass.

“Please. You had a harder time without me than I did without you.”

Clarke snorts, rolling her eyes. Raven’s face softens as her gaze moves from Clarke to Toby, resuming petting him, and he settles his head down on Raven’s lap.

“Thanks for opening up,” Raven murmurs. “I know that’s not your forte.”

Clarke nods, biting the inside of her cheek, swirling the wine around in its glass.

“Just be careful with that stupid, big heart of yours,” Raven says, placing a hand on Clarke’s knee. “I know you always try to keep it closed, but I think you have a tendency to let people inside before you realize they’re in there. And sometimes they can be like Trojan horses, or some shit.”

“ _Trojan horses or some shit._ Very profound of you,” Clarke says, sarcasm masking the feeling of her chest starting to ache a bit. As Raven speaks and picks apart the very innards of her psyche, Clarke understands in this very moment that Raven is one of those people that she’s let in without realizing.

She wonders who else she’s let in.

-

**3 Years Ago**

Clarke lets out a heaving sob, Raven and Octavia scurrying around her apartment, taking down any and all traces of Finn Collins from the walls, her closet. Photos, the note he left, a few shirts he’d forgotten in the laundry all go into a moving box that Octavia had scrounged from her neighborhood recycling area. Bellamy has taken Toby, who is understandably distressed at the sudden and violent change in energy in the apartment, out for a walk.

“I get it,” she stammers through tears as Raven chucks his copy of _Final Destination_ into the box with a scoff. “I get it. I know. I get why he left. I just —“ Another sob. “I didn’t think it would happen like this. I don’t know how to be alone. I can’t believe he just left. A note? Are you serious?”

Octavia sits next to Clarke, a strong arm pulling her in. “He might as well have addressed it to Jane Doe, I know. What a prick. I’ll kill him.”

“He’s not, though,” Clarke says, burying her head in her hands. “He’s not. I — I think I fell out of love a long time ago, and I just didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to be alone, but that meant that I was leaving him alone.”

“You’re seriously defending the guy who dumped you with a note on a real estate mail insert?” Raven says, sitting on Clarke’s other side.

“This keeps happening.” Clarke accepts a Kleenex that has suddenly appeared in Octavia’s hand, blowing her nose into it. “I keep —“ a sob — “I keep making people go away.”

“We’re here, Clarkey,” Octavia says, rubbing Clarke’s back.

“You’re only here because we work together,” Clarke says without thinking, and she knows it’s the wrong thing to say, but she doesn’t know if it’s true or not. Her goddamned brain. Her goddamned brain and its irritating tendency to say aloud the things she is the most scared of, saying aloud the things that may make them come true.

“Shut the fuck up,” Raven says sternly. “You’re going through a breakup so I’m not going to tell you off for that one, but that is _not_ okay for you to say or think.”

“Yeah, seriously, Clarke,” Octavia says, nudging Clarke around until Clarke can’t help but giggle. “This is our team’s day off, and we’re here spending it with the world’s snottiest crier.”

As Clarke cries, Raven musses up her hair and resumes the Great Finn Cleanse, as she calls it. Clarke wipes up tears with her hands, Octavia rubbing her back, and she thinks of all of the people she’s now lost as a result of her own faults and fears. Her mother. Marcus. Her friends from college. Now Finn.

How much longer before she loses more? Why can’t she seem to draw the line for herself?

Why does she keep doing this to herself?

-

It’s nearly 11PM. Clarke and Raven finish off a second bottle of wine, and Raven declares that she has to get home before she passes out on Clarke’s couch. “I can _not_ forget about breakfast with my mom tomorrow morning.”

She and Clarke say goodbye with a hug, Raven firmly telling Clarke to text her if she feels herself drunk spiralling, and Clarke assures her that she’ll be okay.

Before she leaves, Raven pauses, and turns back.

"And Clarke?"

"Mm?"

"Call Abby."

Clarke nods once. "One step at a time, Reyes."

Once Raven is out the door, Clarke turns to start tidying her apartment, throwing out the takeout boxes and cleaning out wine glasses.

Being on the drunk side of tipsy is strange. She finds herself having finished the dishes while not quite registering what happened between her starting the task and finishing the task, and there’s a record playing that she remembers putting on, but doesn’t remember when.

This is how Clarke then finds herself with her phone in her hand, dialling Dr. Lexa Woods’ contact in her phone.

Three rings, and a short click.

“Hello? Clarke?”

Clarke can’t quite explain the feeling she gets when she hears Lexa’s voice on the other side of the line. Relief? Warmth? It’s something that doesn’t quite make sense to her.

“That’s me. Did I wake you?”

“No. Just having a nightcap at home, got back an hour ago.”

“Late night.” Clarke plops herself on her couch, Toby leaping up to sit beside her.

“Late surgery.” There’s a pause. “Phone calls are new.”

“Yeah, sorry. Figured it’s easier than texting.” Clarke clears her throat. “For the record, I am not entirely sober right now.”

Another pause. The pace of Clarke’s heart picks up an infinitesimal amount, but enough for her to somewhat notice. Has she taken it too far? “What a coincidence. Me neither.”

Clarke bites her lip, only taking a few seconds to consider her next move ( _goddammit, tipsy brain)._ “Want to come by?”

There’s a chuckle, and Clarke’s heart is now beating even faster. Definitely noticeable now.

“Sure. I’ll call a Lyft, be there in a half hour. Don’t fall asleep on me.”

“Wide awake, ma’am.”

-

Clarke opens the door to Lexa wearing what appears to be a cashmere green sweater and black pants, bottle of wine in hand. Toby is immediately at her side, enthusiastically wagging his tail and nudging his snout into Lexa’s thigh.

“Hey, dog.” Lexa laughs, ruffling his fur, and holds the bottle out to Clarke. “Wasn’t sure if I should come empty-handed.”

Clarke steps aside to let Lexa in, taking the bottle with a soft _thanks_ and waving her hand toward the inside of her apartment. “Such manners.”

“Yeah, old habits,” Lexa says, and grins wide at Clarke. “I’ll be honest, I never thought in this day and age that a booty call would actually consist of a physical call.”

“Felt better than a “ _u up?_ ” text,” Clarke says, heading to her kitchen counter to get the corkscrew. The two bottles her and Raven demolished sit empty beside the sink.

“That wasn’t all you, was it?” Lexa’s voice is uneasy as she gestures towards the bottles. Clarke laughs, shaking her head as she grabs two empty glasses and begins pouring.

“God, no. I’d be on the floor, not to mention two bottles on my own sounds dangerously close to alcoholism.” She hands Lexa a glass as she speaks, and notices a quiet flash of wariness in Lexa’s eyes. Clarke hastily continues. “Also, I’d be on the floor. Which I was. But on purpose. With Raven.”

“Ah,” Lexa says, taking a cheeky sip of her wine, one eyebrow raised. “Raven.”

Clarke blanches, clearing her throat. “We cleared all of that up.”

Lexa steps a little closer to Clarke. Another sip. “Right. What was the _all that_ you had to clear up, anyway?”

That’s a surprise. Clarke can’t remember a single time in any of their (albeit short) conversations where Lexa’s directly asked anything about Clarke’s life. Tipsy brain Clarke is more than happy to oblige, though.

“Honestly, and this is going to sound like some stupid soap bit, but she just worries for me,” Clarke says, shrugging nonchalantly, avoiding eye contact with Lexa in fear of losing her nerve. “I sort of…shut her out recently. Didn’t mean to, but who really ever does, you know?”

“Mmm,” Lexa sounds, leaning against the counter.

“When things get tough, I sort of go into shut-down mode,” Clarke explains, “I think for me, it feels easier to isolate and not talk about it, because if I say anything bad out loud, it makes it real. And not just in my own head.”

“What bad things?” Lexa says quietly.

“I don’t know, I —“ Clarke sighs, looking down at her feet, and steels herself to make eye contact with Lexa, her inner voice roaring at her to tread carefully, to not give too much of herself away, “My last partner and I broke up sort of for the same reasons. I compartmentalized too much, and he left really abruptly, and Raven was there for the aftermath.”

“Sounds like you opened up to her then,” Lexa muses.

Clarke shakes her head, beginning to feel dangerously close to speaking far too much, far too soon. “She sort of forces it, which no one has ever really bothered doing before. It’s not really a regular occurrence.”

The next words Lexa says are quiet, almost murmured, and Clarke strains to hear them. “Seems like we’re more similar than I thought.”

“What?”

Lexa looks up, startled, as though she said words she thought in her head out loud without her own knowledge, and shakes her head. “Just thinking out loud.” She sets her wine glass down as Clarke takes another drink from her own, pushing off the counter and stepping into Clarke’s space. Clarke’s stomach plummets in the best possible way, and she swallows her mouthful of wine, backed up against the counter.

“I’m glad you called,” Lexa says in a low voice, both hands coming up to rest against the counterspace on either side of Clarke’s waist, face so close that Clarke can feel warm breath ghosting against her lips. Lexa gently places her hand on Clarke's, the one holding the glass of wine, and takes it, setting it down beside them. In the light of Clarke’s kitchen, with the sweater she’s wearing, Lexa’s eyes are a brighter green than Clarke has ever remembered them, just a thin circle around dilated pupils. She looks down at Clarke’s lips as if to seek permission, and Clarke closes the gap between them in silent approval. They both moan at the contact, Lexa’s tongue swiping into Clarke’s mouth, and with that, Clarke is set free.

With a deep inhale, she pulls Lexa in by the waist with an urgency she didn’t quite realize that she’d felt, hands fisting into the soft sweater before sliding inside and up. Lexa raises her arms to allow Clarke to slip the sweater off.

“No bra?” Clarke grins into Lexa’s mouth.

“Cashmere is nice and soft.” Lexa’s fingers are at the button of Clarke’s jeans, undoing and unzipping. “Feels comfier.”

“Sure does,” Clarke breathes as Lexa roughly pulls her pants down. She steps out of them and without a word, Lexa is picking her up and setting her down on the countertop, her hip pressing into Clarke’s core as they continue to kiss, tongues sliding against the other. Lexa grinds into Clarke as if they’ve been doing this for years, and Clarke whimpers as Lexa tilts her head and lightly bites at her neck.

This won’t do. Clarke needs to feel more of Lexa. She pushes off against the counter and leads Lexa into her bedroom.

-

“Should call a car,” Lexa near-incoherently mumbles into Clarke’s neck, still breathless. Clarke groans. Two empty glasses of wine sit on her bedside table, the remnants of their evening where they somehow mustered the wherewithal to take breaks during yet another night of some of the absolute dirtiest, hottest sex Clarke has ever had.

“Stay. Don’t wanna move.”

“Mmph. Okay.” Lexa pushes her nose further into her neck, nuzzling in, and Clarke giggles.

“Hey. Tickles.”

“Are we just axing words from our vocabulary?”

“Mhm.”

Lexa laughs, tracing circles around Clarke’s hip. Clarke feels the puff of air against her bare skin and she grins, feeling Lexa’s weight pleasantly against half of her body, sweat successfully cooling her down.

“I really am, you know,” Lexa murmurs, yawning, and Clarke runs a hand along the length of Lexa’s spine.

“Am what?”

“Glad you called. I like being around you.”

It’s said almost like a passing comment, but Clarke can’t help the involuntary flutter of her heart, some of the first words Lexa has said to her that potentially indicate that she doesn’t just think Clarke is a good lay.

“I like being around you, too.”

Lexa’s breathing is already steadying and her hand ceases its movements. Clarke’s beginning to learn that she’s quick to fall asleep.

“I'm glad you're staying," she whispers. She’s not sure if Lexa hears her words or not, as Lexa remains silent, seemingly having been already lulled into sleep.

Clarke looks up at the ceiling, faint light from the kitchen casting a soft glow into her room, and she thinks of Raven’s words before she left.

_You have a tendency to let people inside before you realize they’re in there._

She shuts her eyes, trying to focus on the sound of Lexa’s breathing.

_Fuck. I might be screwed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i mean, we all knew she was screwed since the beginning, but now she knows. what a dumbass. i love her to death. 
> 
> until the next...lmk what you thought of this one! xoxo


	6. Lexa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little bit of fun for clarke n lexa with a lil bit of angst thrown in :o) in this chapter, clarke and lexa spend the day together.  
> you learn more about lexa's past and what makes her the way she is, her relationships with anya and lincoln.   
> thank u so much for all your comments i love you and i read every single one of them and smile real big on the inside!!!!!!!!

**4 years ago**

Costia wraps her arms around Lexa’s waist as Lexa sleepily makes coffee from their French press. It’s Sunday morning. Lexa loves Sunday mornings. Everything feels quieter, seems quieter, even the sunlight casting rays through the bay window feels quieter.

“When do you go in today?” Costia murmurs, pressing a kiss to the back of Lexa’s neck. Lexa leans back, smiling as she pours coffee into two giant mugs.

“Mm. Few hours.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine. What do you mean?” Lexa turns to face her wife, holding out a mug for Costia to take.

“You were up kind of late. I noticed you’d finished off half the Bulleit,” Costia says as she grasps the mug, gesturing to the betraying bottle on their bar cart.

“Just had a few fingers,” Lexa says, shrugging. “Tough day at work.”

“Mm.” Costia seems like she wants to press on, but to Lexa’s absolute relief, she doesn’t. It’s Sunday morning. There isn’t room for any of that on Sunday mornings. Costia sits at one of the stools by their kitchen island, scrolling through her phone, and chuckles.

“Look at this photo Linc just sent of Madi,” she says, holding out her phone screen. Lexa looks to see that it’s a photo of the 2-year old girl, mostly a blur, running out of the frame with her favorite dolly. “She’s learned what photos are and apparently hates them. Says it doesn’t make sense that there’s two of her.”

Lexa smiles, shaking her head, and Costia brings her phone back.

“Kids are so weird. Tiny things that don’t understand the world and simple things like pictures, and suddenly they grow up and they’re, like,” Lexa gestures to herself. “A doctor in charge of lives. Bizarre.”

“Would you ever have any?” Costia says, her eyes now fixated on the screen.

Lexa’s cup is halfway to her mouth when she freezes. Her and Costia had talked about this. They’d talked about this before they’d gotten married. Kids weren’t on the table for a long, long time, not with their jobs, not with how young they were. “I — like, now?”

Costia shrugs, still scrolling through her phone. “Sure.”

“I thought — I mean — no,” Lexa stammers. “I’m - we’re so young. And busy. I don’t think I could care for a kid right now let alone give it the attention it needs. I don’t even think I’d have time to explain to a kid why a photo of her isn’t actually her in the flesh, you know?”

“Right.” Costia quirks an eyebrow. Lexa lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Spit it out.”

Costia puts her phone down, clearing her throat. “I think I want kids.”

Lexa leans against the counter, forcing her face to remain neutral. She’d been expecting this. She’d been expecting this since Lincoln and his ex-wife had Madi two years ago, when Costia first held her niece in her arms. When Costia and Lexa were there for Madi’s first steps. Costia had her phone in hand, squealing and crying almost as much as Lincoln had been.

“I don’t know if this is a conversation for the first thing in the morning, a few hours before I have to go to work,” Lexa says, her voice coming out stern.

“It’s never the right time for you,” Costia says, looking straight at Lexa. “I brought this up two nights ago, too, and you said you’d had too stressful of a day to talk about it. And you know what? You think you’re too busy, but you honestly don’t have to be anymore.” Costia waves her hand at Lexa. “Ark hospital hired on new staff for the ER, you don’t have to be working overtime anymore, you told me as much, and yet you still pull ridiculous hours.”

Lexa purses her lips, lets out an exasperated sigh. “If you think that us having a child means that you have to act like this is some professional debate to convince me it’s a good idea, don’t you think that means we’re not ready to have a kid?”

“Don’t avoid the question.”

Lexa shakes her head, placing the coffee mug down on the counter and turning to start doing the dishes from breakfast, as a way to busy her hands. “This is ridiculous.”

Costia scoffs, indignantly rising out of her chair. “I’m going for a run.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

Costia storms into their bedroom and comes out wearing her jogging outfit, not looking at Lexa once. She grabs her keys and slams the door shut. There’s a ringing silence left behind. Not the nice kind.

So much for Sunday morning.

Lexa reaches into the fridge and pours a splash of Bailey’s into her coffee.

Just to take the edge off a little bit.

-

**Present Day**

“Madi’s got a choir concert coming up in a few days,” Lincoln says, running a hand over his bald head. “Can’t wait to hear a bunch of children scream singing “All I Want For Christmas is my Two Front Teeth”.”

Anya and Lexa let out a short burst of laughter. They’re at Lincoln’s apartment for an impromptu Christmas dinner, since Lexa and Anya both work on the actual night of, and Madi has since fallen asleep in her room, clutching a giant teddy bear Lexa and Anya had bought her for Christmas.

The three of them sit on Lincoln’s sectional, drinking nice wine Lincoln had gotten as a gift from work. Lexa’s settled into a pleasant buzz, leaning back against the couch.

“My personal favorite is the one about how the kid wants a hippopotamus for Christmas,” Anya says, swirling her wine in her glass. “I mean, really. Be sensible.”

“Madi loves that one. She wants one, too, because obviously,” Lincoln says, rolling his eyes. “And it’s not like I can break it to a child that hippos are actually extremely dangerous and kill something like 500 people a year in Africa.”

“She’s so curious. It’s only a matter of time before she finds out on her own,” Lexa says, grinning. “She reminds me more and more of you and Costia as she gets older.”

Lincoln smiles softly at Lexa. “Hopefully more Cos, to be honest,” he says. “Wouldn’t want her growing up into a big, dumb oaf like me.”

“You’re too hard on yourself, Linc,” Anya says, shoving a pillow at him. “You’re a big, _handsome_ dumb oaf.”

Lincoln chuckles. “I can always count on you for the ego boost, Woods senior.” He raises his glass, customary after their Christmas dinners. “To Costia.”

“To Costia,” Lincoln and Lexa says, and they clink their glasses. Lexa feels that familiar burn of guilt, sadness, a pang in her stomach when she thinks of her. Anya wordlessly squeezes her knee.

There’s a few moments of comfortable silence, and Lincoln is speaking again. “Lexa, how have you been? I feel like Anya and I have been monopolizing this conversation.”

“Nothing new there. I’m just a happy observer of the sitcom that is you and Anya.”

“I’m sure you are. Answer the question,” Lincoln says, an entertained gleam in his eye.

Lexa wonders sometimes if part of Costia’s soul made its way into her brother, from the way he immediately catches on to her deflections, is quick to call them out, to bother her until she finally gives in.

She shrugs. “Fine. Life is life. Living it. Doing things. Nothing’s changed, really.”

Lincoln nods, sipping at his wine, and gives a knowing look to Anya, who gives him one right back. Lexa doesn’t like the look of that. Not one bit. Not even a little.

“Who was that girl that knocked on my door a few weeks back?”

Lexa groans, throwing her head back against the couch. “How long have you been holding on to that one for?”

“Since she first knocked on my door,” Lincoln says, laughing. “C’mon, spill.”

“It’s two against one, you have to or there’ll be dire consequences,” Anya says.

Lexa gets it — she gets that Lincoln asking about Lexa’s love life is his way of trying to fall into normalcy. After all, Lincoln has always been Lexa’s friend first. After all, he’s how she met Costia in the first place. But there’s no getting around the fact that he’s the sister of her dead ex-wife. There is absolutely no way in hell that this isn’t weird for everyone involved. Lexa has always kept her various hook-ups as private as possible, almost always making sure she’s going to the other woman’s house rather than the other way around for this exact reason.

“She’s just a paramedic at Ark,” Lexa says, resigned, not making eye contact with either of them. “It’s nothing serious. Honestly, I’m sorry you and Madi had to see that, it was super disrespectful of me.”

“What?” Lincoln looks genuinely confused.

“I — I don’t know.” Lexa shrugs, looking down at her drink. “It felt disrespectful to be flaunting some girl in front of you and Madi?”

Lincoln and Anya sigh at the exact same time, and Lexa looks up to see that he’s looking at Anya, speaking directly to her. “I think it’s time.”

Lexa looks at Anya, then Lincoln, then back at Anya again. “Time for what?”

Lincoln clears his throat, sitting up a little straighter, and Anya bites her lip, looking down at the ground. Lexa’s heart begins to thud in her chest.

“What’s going on?” Lexa asks, her eyes still darting between the two of them, dread settling deep in her stomach. “Oh my god. One of you is sick. What’s going on. Are you both sick? Is Madi? Are all of you sick? Oh my god.”

“Chill the fuck out, Lex,” Anya says, raising both her hands. “Just - let Lincoln talk.”

Lexa fixates her gaze on her ex-brother-in-law, who takes a deep breath before speaking.

“I don’t want you to think that we’ve been talking about you behind your back, because we really, truly don’t, but I need to say something to you, on behalf of both of us, Lexa,” he says, setting his wine glass down on the coffee table.

“It’s almost been four years since Costia passed.”

Lexa inhales sharply.

“If it’s a matter of you genuinely wanting to be alone, and not be in a relationship, sure, but Lexa,” Lincoln places a large hand on her knee, “It’s okay to move on. To want to move on. She would have wanted it, I know it. She only ever wanted you to be happy. Wouldn’t you want the same for her?”

There’s an irrational surge of anger that floods Lexa’s stomach. She’s not entirely sure where it comes from, but it’s thick and hot and threatens to overtake her. “This is garbage,” she mutters. “Is this some kind of weird intervention?”

“Answer the question, kid,” Anya says.

“I’m not a kid.”

“Answer the question, adult.”

Lexa glares. Anya’s face remains neutral.

“I’ll move on when I feel like it’s the right time to move on,” Lexa says stiffly. “Clarke is — she’s just — I barely even know anything about her.”

(This is untrue.

Clarke Griffin’s favourite colour is a woodsy green. Her father died when she was young, too young to truly remember him. Her mother, Abigail Griffin, is a paediatric surgeon in the neighboring town. She realized she was bi when a girl in grade 9 kissed her as a dare during a high school party. She had an ex boyfriend named Finn. Her best friend is Raven from the station.

Her birthday fell on a Wednesday this year.)

“Sure, fine, but I just want you to know that you shouldn’t be apologizing to me for seeing other women,” Lincoln says, resigned. “We just want you to be happy.”

“And I appreciate that,” Lexa says, taking a hefty gulp of her wine. It’s dry, notes of cherry, nicely aged, oaky. She takes note of the label on the bottle. 1997. Must have been expensive.

“Well,” Anya says, slapping her hands on her knees and propping herself up into a standing position. “That went well. Lexa, we should go. Can I stay the night? I’m sleepy as hell.”

Lexa’s grateful for the reprieve and subsequent shut-down of the conversation. “Yep. Sure.”

They hug Lincoln goodbye, tell him to give Madi extra kisses goodnight from her favourite aunts, and walk out the door and into Lexa’s.

“Still think it’s so funny you guys live across the hall from each other,” Anya says, slipping her shoes off. “It’s like some Friends bullshit up in here.”

“I need a cigarette,” Lexa says, not acknowledging Anya’s comment, and goes into her room to rummage in her drawers for her secret pack (that she only calls a secret pack to make sure it never becomes a regular thing).

Anya turns the light on in the room. “Are you alright?”

 _There it is._ “No, I’m not alright,” Lexa says, whirling around, cigarette pack in hand. “What was that bullshit in there?”

“Jesus, Lexa,” Anya says, raising both her hands. “We just were excited because it seemed like maybe you and the paramedic were going somewhere. You’ve been seeing her basically any time you’re free, Lincoln and I hardly see you because of it. Not that that’s a bad thing — it’s just an observation.”

“So you decide to double-team and attack me out of nowhere?” Lexa storms out of her room, making a beeline for her balcony.

“Seriously?” Anya follows close behind. “That was an _attack_ to you?”

Lexa places her hand on the balcony door handle and grips it tight, not opening it yet for fear of her neighbors hearing her and Anya. She lets go, turns to Anya again.

“My love life is none of yours or Lincoln’s fucking business!” she yells. “Neither of you had any right to bring up Costia’s name as if it’s a pawn piece in whatever fucking game of fix-it you both are trying to play with my life.”

Suddenly, Anya is yelling right back, and Lexa shrinks back the tiniest bit. Not quite visibly, but she shrinks. Anya _never_ yells at Lexa. _Never._

“Just so you’re fucking aware, Lexa, we loved her too,” she’s saying, and Lexa’s starting to get tunnel vision. “We loved her, Costia was Lincoln’s _sister,_ for fucks sake. You’ve been so head-up-your-own-ass about your grief and guilt about her that you can’t see how much it’s affected Lincoln, Madi, me! We’re always taking care of you, making sure you aren’t drinking yourself to death every night. Lincoln doesn’t tell you about the times Madi asks when aunt Costia is coming back, why aunt Costia had to leave. He called me a few months ago crying because he kept trying to explain to her that she was never coming back, and she wasn’t getting it. Do you know what it’s like having to explain to a _kid_ that someone they love died?”

“I — I can’t be here.” Lexa pushes past Anya. “You can stay, but I can’t be here.”

“Oh, classic you. Run when the going gets tough. You’re a fucking walking cliche, Lexa, a true Woods!” Anya calls after her as Lexa shrugs her jacket on, gets her phone, and opens the front door. She doesn’t miss the last words Anya yells right before she slams it shut.

“You need serious help.”

Lexa’s dialing Clarke’s contact on her phone the minute she steps out of the elevator.

-

Lexa is aware of three things. Clarke’s open mouth on her neck. The fact that they somehow, within ten minutes of Lexa arriving at Clarke’s front door, Lexa is already in Clarke’s bed, lying beneath her, Clarke inside of her. The words Anya said to Lexa before she left —

 _No. Start again._ She’s aware of three things. Clarke’s open mouth on her neck, travelling downwards. The fact that they somehow, within ten minutes of Lexa arriving at Clarke’s front door, Lexa is already in Clarke’s bed, lying beneath her, Clarke inside of her. Clarke’s hand working against her, inside of her, Clarke inside of her.

“Fuck,” she breathes, closing her eyes, allowing the physical sensations to overtake her mind completely. Clarke’s mouth on her breast. Clarke’s middle and ring finger working inside of her, palm pressing against her clit. The obscene sounds of Lexa’s arousal as Clarke pushes and pulls.

“You feel so good,” Clarke moans, laving at Lexa’s nipple as she fucks her slowly. “So wet for me.”

Lexa tilts her chin up, hand fisted in Clarke’s hair. “Please.”

Clarke groans in response, working her way down Lexa’s stomach and latching her mouth onto Lexa’s clit.

When Lexa comes, she sounds out Clarke’s name. It feels beautiful in her mouth. It feels like she’s been saying her name for years, not weeks. It feels like something new. She says Clarke’s name over and over again White light floods her vision as she grips on to Clarke’s hair with force.

She doesn’t have a chance to recover from it before Clarke’s fingers are working inside of her again, Lexa whining and keening, Clarke moving up to kiss her, Lexa tasting herself all over Clarke’s mouth. She tongues at Clarke’s lips, and Clarke starts to fuck her as though she hasn’t just had an explosive orgasm leaving her head spinning, fingers curling up against the spot that’s _just right._

It’s hard, fast, relentless. It’s everything Lexa needs. It feels so good, it almost hurts. She comes again with a cry and feels warm wetness flooding her groin, more than she’s ever felt before during sex. When she finally climbs down from the high, she becomes incredibly cognizant of how wet everything feels.

_Did I….?_

“Oh my god,” she says in a breath, her face reddening as she looks down.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Clarke whispers, eagerly kissing Lexa as she withdraws her fingers, Lexa twitching at the sudden emptiness.

“I’m so sorry,” Lexa says, covering her face with her hands. Clarke reaches across to get a tissue, cleaning herself off, laughing, and she pulls Lexa’s hands off her face.

“Don’t be ungrateful,” she murmurs, kissing Lexa soundly, smiling into it.

They break from the kiss. “Oh, I’m grateful. I just —“ Lexa pauses. “I’ve never done that before.”

“I’ve never made anyone do that before,” Clarke says, kissing along the length of Lexa’s jaw. “First for everything and everyone.”

Lexa flips them over, grin on her face. “Let me repay the favor.”

By the time she has Clarke writhing and hoarsely crying her name underneath her, Lexa has forgotten entirely about the night’s events.

-

She wakes the next morning to the sound of her phone vibrating once, Clarke’s arm draped around her from behind. Clarke grunts, rolling over from their position to the other side. Lexa curses her phone for the sudden rush of cool air that hits her back at the absence. She reaches for it. Texts from Anya and Lincoln.

**Anya** I’m sorry about last night. I made some waffles for u, they’re in the fridge. Heading out now. We should talk about it, but when you’re ready. Won’t ambush you again. Love you sissy.

**Lincoln** Hey, Anya told me what happened last night. I’m really sorry to have sprung that on you, but I just want you to know that I meant all of it. We love you, I love you. Madi loves you.

She puts her phone down and falls back asleep.

-

She wakes again an hour later, facing Clarke, still fast asleep. Clarke’s arm is slung around Lexa’s waist, Lexa’s around Clarke’s. It feels intimate. Close. Bright morning light cascading through slits in Clarke’s blinds.

There’s a scar just below Clarke’s hairline. Lexa props herself up on her elbow, removing her arm from Clarke’s waist, tracing her finger against it. Clarke lets out a small sniffle, twitching slightly at the light contact. Lexa’s face breaks into a smile, moving her hand to brush it through soft blonde hair.

One phone call and Clarke had eagerly accepted Lexa into her apartment. It was almost one in the morning, and she didn’t seem at all perturbed by the sudden intrusion into her evening. Clarke had kissed her fully, hand wrapped around the nape of her neck, arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her in close. It felt somewhat like home.

Lexa is currently aware of three things. She doesn’t have work today. The fact that it’s Sunday morning. How comfortable she feels with Clarke’s arm on her waist.

 _Wait. Make that four._ She has to pee.

She quietly and gently lifts herself up from underneath Clarke’s arm, careful not to disturb, and picks up a shirt from Clarke’s floor to wear. It’s the Modest Mouse shirt again. She looks back at Clarke’s sleeping figure, truly impressed at her ability to sleep as deeply as she does, and walks through Clarke’s apartment to get to the bathroom. Toby has opted to sprawl on the living room rug instead of Clarke’s room, but he seems to be stirring after Lexa’s movement through the halls.

Once she relieves herself, she finds herself wandering around Clarke’s little apartment. Noticing things she hadn’t before. Picture frames of what looks like a toddler Clarke with her mother and father. Photos of Clarke’s team in front of an ambulance at the station, arms around each other. Another photo of the Ark paramedic Station A, this time at a softball game appearing to be paramedics vs. firefighters. A photo of Clarke holding Toby as a puppy.

As if he’s aware she’s looking at a photo of him, he pads up behind her, nosing at her hand and making a small whining noise. She crouches down to scratch the top of his head.

“What’s up, dog?” she says, kissing his snout. “Is that a bad photo of you? Bad angle?”

“He just has to pee.”

Lexa looks up, startled, at the voice overhead, and sees Clarke wearing an oversize tee of her own, leaning against the wall and smiling at the sight of Lexa and Toby. “He knows there aren’t any bad photos of him. I’ve never seen a more self-confident dog.” She shoves off the wall, walking towards Lexa, who straightens up to a standing position. There’s a pause, and next thing Lexa knows, she’s being kissed good morning.

“Hi,” Clarke whispers, kissing her again.

“Hi, yourself,” Lexa says, smiling into the kiss, feeling that glowing illumination in her chest again.

“I’ve gotta take Mr. Man here for a walk,” Clarke says, stretching and walking back into her bedroom. “Want to come? We could pick up bagels on the way.”

There it is again. The breakfast invite. Lexa’s stomach grumbles as though it knows Lexa wants to decline the invitation, on impulse. _Why do I want to decline it? Shut up, Lexa._

“Sure. I don’t work today.”

“Neither do I,” Clarke says, pulling on a pair of joggers and a sweater, offering one up to Lexa to wear. “It’s cold out.”

Lexa accepts the sweater, an Ark paramedic crewneck, with a soft _thank you_ and pulls it on. It smells like Clarke: clean laundry, vanilla and shampoo.

-

They walk through the park in front of Clarke’s apartment in silence, bagels in hand, and Lexa feels Clarke’s hand brushing against hers a few times.

“This is my first day off in a long time,” Clarke says between mouthfuls of her everything bagel. Toby trots faithfully beside her. “I don’t even know what to do with myself.”

“Me too,” Lexa says, breathing in the thin, cold air.

“Oh shit!” Clarke stops, suddenly fumbling through her pocket.

“What?” Lexa says, stopping with her and raising an eyebrow, watching Clarke as she extracts her phone from her pocket and scrolls through it.

“There’s a matinee showing of _You’ve Got Mail_ at Julien Theatre, they always play older movies. There’s my plan for the day.”

“Sounds fun. With friends, or by yourself?”

Clarke looks up from her phone, pocketing it. “I’ve always wanted to be one of those people who goes to see movies by myself, but I think I just get lonely too easily.” They start walking again, and there’s a sudden tense silence from the blonde’s end. Lexa figures out what’s coming approximately half a second before it does.

“Want to come with?”

_Oh, help._

“I—“ Lexa looks at Clarke, then back ahead. _Why the hell not. It’s just a movie. I have the day off._ “Sure. Sounds nice. I haven’t watched that one yet.”

There’s a noticeable shift in energy in the blonde, who perks up and starts acting as though she’s the dog beside her. Lexa isn’t sure how she’s supposed to feel about it.

“Great! I’ll get tickets when we get back to mine? It’s one of my favorites. I love Meg Ryan. Seriously, romcom icon.”

They walk through the park, Clarke with a bit more of a pep to her step.

Lexa wonders what she’s gotten herself into.

-

What she’s gotten herself into, Lexa finds, is actually quite a heartwarming movie. The idea of feeling like you know someone completely before realizing that they’re a whole entire person outside of what you know. Learning this, and accepting it, and accepting them anyway.

Clarke’s hand doesn’t come off of her knee the entire time. Halfway through, Lexa places hers on top of it.

-

Clarke’s babbling on about Meg Ryan on the walk back to her apartment. It’s nearly dinnertime. Lexa is still wearing her Ark paramedic sweatshirt, hair up in a bun, feeling like she’s in college again. They hold hands the entire way. They talk about their jobs, working in the medical field. Their favorite patients. Hardest losses. Funniest moments.

Almost at the same time, Clarke and Lexa realize that all they’ve had to eat today was a bagel and half a bag of popcorn each.

Clarke asks Lexa if she can show her her favorite falafel stand near her apartment. Lexa’s stomach grumbles again. She can’t say no, especially not when Clarke tugs at her hand and looks at her as though Lexa would personally be doing her the world’s biggest favor in the world just by standing in line at a falafel truck with her.

-

It feels like a dream of what normalcy would have looked like if Lexa hadn’t gone down the path of surgery like she had. A movie and a walk. A messy takeout dinner. Another movie, because why the hell not.

Currently, Lexa is aware of three things. Clarke’s legs on her lap on her couch as they watch _When Harry Met Sally_ on Clarke’s TV. Anya and Lincoln’s unanswered texts. How she used to spend Sunday mornings before Costia —

“I should probably go home,” she says abruptly, straightening up, speaking as though to interrupt her own thoughts. Clarke pushes pause on her remote and sits up.

“Oh — yeah, ‘course,” she says, and it’s impossible for Lexa to not catch the hint of disappointment in her voice. It’s immediately masqueraded with a teasing tone. “I’ve forced you to stay long enough.”

“I enjoyed it, you didn’t force me to do anything,” Lexa says sincerely, placing her hand on Clarke’s knee. “Thanks for today.”

As she stands to get ready to leave, Clarke’s voice is sounding behind her again.

“You know you can talk to me, right? Like, we’re —we’re friends. Who…sleep together. I don’t know.” Lexa turns to see that Clarkes running a hand through her hair. She notices that Clarke does that when she’s nervous or stressed.

“Talk to you?”

“Yeah. Talk to me. Like, I don’t know. You seemed upset last night. And I didn’t want to ask or pry, but yeah. You can talk to me.”

There’s a pause. Lexa lets Clarke’s words simmer for a moment, another rush of affection flowing through her chest. She blinks. “Thank you, Clarke.”

“Yeah. Yeah, ‘course.” Clarke rises, kisses Lexa goodbye.

Lexa’s in the elevator down when she realizes she’s still wearing Clarke’s sweatshirt.

-

**One week later**

It’s been one of the worst holiday weeks Lexa has had in a long time. Overdoses overrun the ER, drunken holiday injuries, the triage is a clusterfuck. Everything is a clusterfuck.

Lexa and Gus prepare for what feels like one of the easiest surgeries she’s had in a week, a typical gall-bladder removal.

She remembers her conversation with Clarke from last night, naked in bed, humble-bragging about how she’d single-handedly managed to get the Ark Hospital funding for laparoscopic choles.

_“We had to do them the old-fashioned way for a while,” Lexa says, “Then there was a period where we had just an absolutely insane number of pissed-off appendixes and gallbladders and hernias. We were wasting time and energy. I’m talking hours. So, I wrote a 50-page report on the benefits of laparoscopy. Nia was so impressed that she presented it to the board personally, and and our requisition was approved, and now we have the laparoscopes.”_

_“Seems like you were very convincing.”_

_“Oh, I can be convincing. You have no idea.”_

_Clarke brings Lexa’s hand up to her lips, kissing her knuckles. “Is that so?”_

_“Let me show you how convincing I can be…”_

Lexa blinks, shaking her head and using her elbows to turn the faucet off, turning to have her hands towelled off and gloved by one of the interns.

The thoughts have been happening more and more, lately. Clarke has been happening more and more. They talk almost ( _almost_ ) as much as they fuck, texting when one of them is at work, Clarke coming over to Lexa’s after her shifts, vice versa.

Lexa hasn’t touched any of her dating apps since she met Clarke. She tries not to think about the implications of it.

She also hasn’t texted Anya or Lincoln back since their chat at Christmas dinner. Lincoln is easy to avoid, considering their opposite schedules.

(Sometimes, Lexa catches the babysitter holding Madi’s hand in the hallway on their way to the playground. Madi always says “Hello, Auntie Lexa” with a grin.)

Anya has texted and called incessantly, her tone getting angrier and angrier as the texts go on. Lexa doesn’t text her back regardless.

She tries not to think about the implications of it.

-

It’s the smallest things that have Lexa particularly uneasy about her budding relationship — _or whatever the hell it is —_ with Clarke.

She texts Lexa good morning and goodnight when they don’t see each other. Every other day, she shows up to the ER with lunch for Lexa, because she knows Lexa fucking hates the hospital cafeteria food but can’t be bothered to pack lunch for herself most days.

Lexa feels the most uneasy after this:

It’s New Years Eve, and both Clarke and Lexa are working. Lexa hasn’t heard from Clarke all night, presumably busy with the overload of calls that inevitably come in during a holiday that’s dedicated to getting as boisterously drunk as one possibly can.

Lexa’s just finished her rounds and plops onto the lounge couch, leaning her head back. She lolls her head to the side to look at the clock. 11:55.

“Guess I won’t be starting a surgery that lasts until next year,” she says to Gus, who snorts and shakes his head.

“Unbelievable. Esteemed doctor Lexa Woods resorting to puns. You must be really tired.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” She rubs her eyes, sighing.

She’s absentmindedly watching the news on the television, photos of bustling crowds in New York waiting for the ball to drop. Lexa’s heard stories about how some people wear diapers to get the perfect spot to wait for the ball to drop so that they don’t have to lose it to go to the bathroom. She wonders what it’s like to live a life where the most important thing in the world is making sure that you keep your spot at a New Years event.

She watches as couples on TV clearly prepare for the year-defining kiss, the one that they ring in the new year with.

They’ll ring in the new year kissing their loved ones, partying until they puke in a ditch somewhere.

Lexa will ring in the new year having just had her hands inside of a dying human body.

_10…9…8…_

Lexa and Gus watch the TV with almost a bored air to them.

5…4…3…2…1… _HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!_

There are a few quiet whoops in the hall outside of people waiting in the ER, unaware of the tragedies happening behind closed doors.

Lexa stands, smiling at Gus. “Happy New Year, Gus,” she says, readying herself to leave, go home, finally get some rest.

“Happy New Year, kid,” he responds, stretching.

Suddenly, her phone is ringing. She reaches into her pocket, waving goodbye at Gus before leaving and entering the locker room. She checks the caller ID, prepared to screen the call, assuming that it’s Anya.

**_Clarke Griffin_ **

_Oh._

She picks up, pauses. “Hi? Clarke?”

“Hey,” Clarke says. It sounds like she’s outside somewhere. “How are you?”

“Not bad. Just finished up for the evening.”

“Lucky. Another 3 hours for me. Taking a smoke break outside the station to get a bit of peace and quiet. It’s been hell, record number of calls this evening.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.” Another pause. Clarke speaks again.

“I just wanted to call you to say…to say Happy New Year. I know it’s not that big of a deal for you, probably, especially considering you were working, but it — I don’t know — it felt like the right thing to do.”

Currently, Lexa is aware of three things. Clarke Griffin sounds incredibly nervous to be calling Lexa right now. Lexa has stopped moving entirely, standing in the middle of the locker room, stunned for words. Lexa’s chest feels like it’s illuminating and like it’s about to burst.

“I—“

There’s the sound of a siren on Clarke’s end.

“Fuck. Gotta go. Bye,” and the line is disconnected before Lexa has a chance to speak.

“Happy New Year, Clarke,” she says to the dead line. She keeps the phone to her ear for a few moments, dead air on the other side. Things are shifting. Things feel different.

She tries not to think of the implications of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter is gonna skip ahead a couple months in time a bit to *drumroll* valentines day. clarke and lexa have fallen into a groove of Friends Who Care Immensley About Each Other Who Are Definitely Friends Who Also Do The Dirty but there's only so long u can go before you're faced with your feelings and all that fun stuff.
> 
> pls feel free to keep leaving kudos n comments!!!!! im not rly on socials in a fandom capacity because tbh 307 still has me scarred and unwilling to join fandom life ever again but this has been a nice little reprieve and a way for me to connect with this lil internet world.
> 
> PS have you guys watched bly manor yet? please watch bly manor.


	7. Clarke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops. has it really been over 2 months? sorry about that guys - you know how it goes. life. hope this longer, x-tra smutty chapter makes up for it.

**February 10**

“I can beat him up for you, Clarke.”

“Yeah? You’re 10 pounds soaking wet, Raven. He’d throw you out the window using his thumb and index finger, and I’d pay to see it.”

Raven and Clarke are tucked away in a booth of their favorite bar, the rest of the crew playing a rather raucous game of pool. Raven glares at the brunette bartender, looking over their way and smirking. The man keeps leaving his station to personally ask what the girls will have next — paying extra attention to Clarke.

She doesn’t like it. He leers in that way only conventionally handsome white men who know they're conventionally handsome leer, cleft lip pulling cockily over his teeth when he calls Clarke “ma’am.” He leans in much closer than he needs, smelling like stale beer and department store cologne, even having the gall to place a hand on Clarke’s shoulder when she confirms that they’ll just have another pint, thanks, that’s all.

Raven tilts her head back, drinking the last few dregs of her lager. “I have agility to my advantage. Plus, there’s no way he isn’t just the world’s dumbest man ever. Look at him. Nothing behind the eyes.” Raven stands suddenly, swaying slightly.

“One sec, I’m gonna go bully Bellamy. He still owes me, like, $50 for kicking his ass at pool last week.”

“Go easy on him.” Clarke snorts, tapping her phone to wake it up, seeing that Lexa has texted her.

**Lexa** Just saw a license plate ending in 17. Parking lot.

 **Clarke** Liar. Photo proof or it doesn’t count.

Lexa and Clarke have, for some reason, taken up counting the ends of license plates — the one who has the highest number by Saturdays owes the other lunch on the Mondays.

(That doesn’t stop both Lexa and Clarke from bringing each other lunch, anyway, but they like to pretend the stakes are real and _very_ high.)

 **Clarke** Also I thought seen-while-working plates don’t count?? I could have kicked your ass day 1 if that was the case jfc

 **Lexa** You literally drive fast down roads passing every car on the way as part of your job. Wouldn’t be much of a game lol.

 **Clarke** Seems like you’re stalling sending a photo.

 **Lexa** Seems like you suck.

Lexa sends a blurry, zoomed in photo of the license plate she speaks of.

 **Clarke** Fuck.

 **Clarke** Still doesn’t count if you’re working.

 **Lexa** Just rotated early actually

 **Clarke** Interesting

 **Clarke** I’m at Polis pub with some of the crew.

 **Lexa** You're at the pub next to the hospital we work at without me? Ouch.

 **Clarke** Yeah, but I don’t know. I’ve got a good feeling that might change?

 **Lexa** 10 mins

Clarke bites her lip, smiling down at her phone before setting it down. She takes small sips of her beer, watching Raven trying to throw Bellamy off his game by shoving him around, Bellamy laughing while threatening to throw beer over her head. For the first time in a long time, she feels…at peace. Like she doesn’t want much more than what she has right now. Less lonely.

And she would never admit this is related, but it’s now been a few months since she started sleeping with Dr. Lexa Woods, and it has no signs of slowing down. Their texting has become more and more frequent, Lexa staying over more nights than not, asking Clarke to stay more nights than not. They don’t put a name to what they’re doing.

And Clarke’s fine with it. She really is. The company is nice. The sex is unbelievable. Lexa is —

_Lexa wakes Clarke up by kissing the back of her shoulders some mornings, hands already beginning to wander. Lexa once chatted Clarke’s ear off for an hour about osteo-odonto-keratoprosthesis surgeries (Clarke still doesn’t quite understand how it works, despite her best efforts). Lexa has taken to stopping by the station to pass off a bag of artisan Europe-imported coffee from the local shop nearby every week. Lexa starts doing this after a drunken night where Clarke chatted Lexa’s ear off about how shitty the provided coffee is at the station. Lexa is now Station A’s favorite guest, Lexa often giving Octavia tips on studying for her MCAts. Lexa —_

“Hey, there,” the bartender is back at Clarke’s side, snapping her out of her train of thought. She isn’t sure how long she’s been staring off into space for. The bartender places his hands on the table and leans forward. “Looks like you’re almost finished up.”

Raven, bless her soul, saunters up behind him right as he finishes talking and takes a seat across from Clarke, giving him the dirtiest look Clarke has seen her give in a long, long time.

“She’s not,” Raven says, pointing at Clarke’s very clearly unfinished beer.

“I can go refill it for you, on the house. I call it my “beautiful women” exclusive deal.” The bartender winks, and at this point, Clarke snaps.

“We can get our drinks ourselves,” She looks down at his nametag, then back up. “Cage. Thanks for the service, but we’re trying to have a girl’s night. It doesn’t help conversation when you’re coming up here every few minutes to do something we’re perfectly capable of doing.”

Raven sucks in her lips, stifling a snort. Cage the bartender straightens out his back, clears his throat. “Alright, then. Message received. I was just trying to be nice. You’re mean, blondie. Bit of a bitch.”

Clarke shoots out of her seat. “Who the fuck do you think you are, talking to me like that?”

A few people briefly turn to see what the fuss is all about, and turn back — either too drunk to care, or too self-involved to intervene.

Cage raises his hands. Bellamy and Octavia appear from behind him, Bellamy with two pitchers in his hands. It seems ridiculous, almost — the bar is so busy and loud that it seems like they’re all gathered around having a lively debate.

“Everything alright?” he asks uneasily, looking back and forth at Clarke.

“Does your boss know you harass women while on the clock?” Clarke says, ignoring Bellamy, who sets the pitchers down in front of Raven and crosses his arms.

“First of all, I wouldn’t call what I’m doing _harassing_ so much as _being a gentleman,_ ” Cage says, snorting. “Second, my boss, really? You wanna narc on me? Leave a bad Yelp review? 0% tip? Go right ahead, see if I give a shit. Bad news for you. I’m the boss around here, blondie.”

Suddenly, a familiar voice sounds from beside him.

“I’m fairly sure that your father wouldn’t be very happy to hear that his son is making a mockery out of the bar he bought for you.”

 _Lexa._ Clarke looks over at her, then at Raven, who stares at the brunette in disbelief.

Cage clears his throat, pursing his lips. “Dr. Woods.”

“Mr. Wallace,” she says, eyes boring into him. “Say hi to _Doctor_ Wallace for me when you get home, will you? And I’ll grab a pint of the Hefeweizen.”

Glaring back at her, then at Clarke, Cage the bartender says nothing and struts off and back behind the bar, furiously beginning to towel off glasses.

“That,” Raven says, standing up, “Did _not_ just happen.”

“Hi, everyone,” Lexa says, reaching to wrap an arm around Clarke’s shoulders and planting a kiss on her cheek. “Someone had to make sure _blondie_ here didn’t go to jail for murder tonight.”

Clarke playfully shoves Lexa off, cheeks flushing at the contact. “My hero.”

Bellamy and Octavia take seats at the booth, Lexa seating herself beside Clarke, who almost unconsciously places a hand on her knee. Lexa seems to look down at her hand for a second, her lips flitting into a smile, and helps herself to the rest of Clarke’s beer.

“Who’s Dr. Wallace?” Bellamy says, laughing. “Bartender dude’s got the most punchable face in the world and I think you just did it with words.”

“He was the attending physician during my residency,” Lexa says, a mischievous quirk to her eyebrow as she takes another sip. “Cage was in my cohort.”

“Cage went to med school?” Raven says, gaping. Lexa nods. A bartender that is _not_ Cage scrambles up with a glass, placing it in front of Lexa and rushing away.

“Sent a lackey, hey?” Lexa says, nodding her thanks. “Never been one for confrontation unless he knows he's gonna win." Another sip.

Clarke’s started to notice how fast Lexa can down a drink. She didn’t, at first, not really — then, when she did, she chalked it up to nerves. But Lexa remained steady. Confident.

Lexa will have two glasses of wine for every one Clarke has. And yeah, Clarke’s noticed, but she doesn’t know if she’s supposed to notice that kind of thing, let alone think anything of it.

So, she doesn’t.

“Same year as me. He was the most arrogant one in my program. Irritatingly enough, good at the job. But he decided that being a business owner supersedes years of medical school, because being a business owner means he gets to be the boss.” Lexa shrugs. “So daddy bought him a bar, and now here he is. Too bad it seems being a business owner doesn’t get him the girls.”

The table laughs, and Bellamy pours everyone’s glasses full.

“Cheers to dicks thinking they’ve got it all until they’re humbled by the likes of Dr. Woods.”

“Hear, hear!” Octavia yells as the clink glasses.

Clarke squeezes Lexa’s knee, lets go to grab a napkin and wipe away some of the inevitable spillage she saw coming.

What she doesn’t see coming is Lexa’s hand reaching and resting on Clarke’s knee, as if it’s her turn.

-

Clarke’s a goner long before they get back to Lexa’s apartment, such is the nature of not-so-subtle leg touches and some liquid courage, but Lexa doesn’t act remotely like she knows she really, truly, absolutely could start fucking Clarke without any pretence tonight.

When they get inside, Lexa is slow when she kisses Clarke. Deliberate in the way she pushes Clarke’s jacket off her shoulders. Deepens the kiss fast, drawing out a needy moan from the back of Clarke’s throat but doesn’t do anything with her hands other than pull Clarke in by the waist.

She leads them to her bed, both of the women shucking clothes around the room until they’re stripped down to their underwear. Lexa pushes Clarke backwards onto the bed, crawling over her, kissing up her belly, sternum, neck. Kisses _into_ Clarke, tongue swiping over her lips before licking into Clarke’s mouth.

She does this for so long that Clarke’s chest is heaving in her attempt to keep her body from bucking up into Lexa, who has since settled comfortably between Clarke’s legs, grinding against her almost imperceptibly as she laves her tongue up Clarke’s neck.

And when Lexa’s fingers finally, _finally_ slide underneath the waistband of Clarke’s underwear and swipes through wet heat, Clarke leans her head back into her pillow, closing her eyes.

At ease.

-

**February 14**

“I think — I don’t know — is it today? But if today is yesterday, how come my mouth is stuck in my head? Wow.”

Clarke purses her lips to stifle a laugh as the laughing gas hits the teenager in the back of the ambulance _very_ hard.

_John Mbege, 16 years old, parents have been called, no allergies or pre-existing conditions. He thinks. No signs of a concussion, no spinal injuries. Swollen and bent left ankle, swollen wrist. Superficial wounds on his knee._

“I don’t know, John,” she says, “Way she goes, you know?”

John’s head lolls towards Clarke. “Way who goes?”

It’s an easy ride back, lights off — the kid’s likely broken his leg and wrist during a particularly bad skateboarding accident, but the nitrous oxide may as well mean his entire body is just one big, floating cloud. Raven laughs from the driver’s seat.

“Life. That’s the way life goes.” She makes a right. “Better tell your Valentine’s Day date that you won’t be able to make it to your plans tonight.”

“I’m single. No Valentine. Sad.” John pathetically flops his good hand up and back down to the stretcher, seemingly involuntarily. Then, he's perking up just as fast. “Want to be my date? You both? I’m don’t have many — I don’t own much money, but I can buy some…chicken nuggets. Tenders.”

“We’re a bit old for you, kid,” Clarke says leaning sideways to check on the tank. “But you’ll find the right person soon enough to buy chicken nuggets for.”

They arrive at Ark and roll John inside, Raven ruffling his hair before departing. “Wear a helmet next time. You’re lucky that you didn’t hit your handsome little head.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

-

Clarke and Raven drive the ambulance back to the station, Clarke taking a few gulps of water while Raven parks.

“Valentine’s Day,” Raven says, checking her watch as they exit the truck and walk inside. “It’s seven, and we’re off. You doing anything with the Doctor Lady? Fancy dinner?”

Clarke rolls her eyes, following Raven into the nap room and hanging her jacket up. “I don’t think we’re at Valentine’s Day level yet.”

“Really?” Raven flops onto the lower bunk beside Clarke to wait while Clarke gathers her things. “You see her, like, every day. She brings you coffee bags. _Artisan_ coffee bags. Shit’s like, $25 a pop.”

“Yes, really, because we’re not —“ Clarke rolls her eyes and sighs, feeling like a teenager all over again. This whole thing makes her feel like a teenager, really. “We’re not _serious_. Not yet.” She leans against the bedpost, looking down at Raven, who stares back up at her mischievously.

“Yet? Do you want to be serious?”

“I don’t know. Like, objectively, yes —“

“Who the hell talks about a relationship they’re in _objectively?_ Christ, Griffin —“

“Shut up. Objectively, yes, but I just don’t know how it would work past what we’re doing now. I don’t — I don't even know if I’m the only one she’s seeing, or if she’s maybe hooked up with other people in the past few months." Clarke pauses, the ugly, familiar feeling of jealousy boiling in her stomach, but she doesn't let it get to her and simply continues talking. "Also, she’s so busy with work, I’m busy with work, and last time I got into a relationship while I was busy at work —“

“Don’t you dare say his name,” Raven warns, furrowing her brow at Clarke. “He does not deserve to have any form of a presence in this room.”

Clarke laughs. “Fair enough.”

“Have _you_ been sleeping with other people?”

“No,” Clarke admits. “Sort of not really a need.”

“Is there a want?”

“No,” Clarke says, sighing. “Not even a little.”

“Right.” Raven rolls out of the bunk, stretching and then placing a hand on Clarke’s shoulder. “Clarke, Lexa isn’t Douchebag-McGee Collins. And you’re the chillest I’ve seen you in years. You guys see each other so often, what would change by you, like, asking her what you guys’ deal is?”

“Dunno,” Clarke says, the two girls turning to walk out of the nap room. She sighs deeply, pre-emptively pulling a cigarette out of her pocket and letting it hang out of her mouth as they leave the station.

“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.”

-

Clarke is heating up leftover risotto from last night for dinner, washing her hands in the sink, when she hears her phone buzzing on the counter.

**Lexa Woods**

She scrambles to pause the microwave, wiping her hands off, and picks up.

“Hey,” she says, as casually as she can.

_It’s Valentine’s Day. Lexa is calling me on Valentine’s Day. Everything is fine. Everything is fine, and good, and fine._

“Hey there,” Lexa’s voice sounds over the receiver and Clarke’s lips almost involuntarily twitch upwards into a smile. “You busy?”

“Extremely,” Clarke says. “Old risotto in the microwave, SVU on TV.” She pauses. _Don’t say it. Don’t say it._ “Classic Valentine’s Day activities, you know how it is.” _Fuck._

There’s a silence on the other end of the line, and Clarke’s heart is in her throat, but then Lexa clears her throat and speaks again.

“Never been one to buy into the whole Valentine’s Day thing,” she says, and Clarke’s heart sinks just a little as she tries to decipher if Lexa means anything by it. “You got a Valentine over there?”

“Yeah, his name’s Toby. Handsome brunette, getting a bit salt and peppery with the hair but I like them older.”

Lexa laughs, and Clarke hears the unmistakeable sound of a glass being set down on a table. “Well, I may not be going fully grey just yet, but I’m free tonight and was thinking about you.”

Clarke would be lying if she said she didn’t want to do a giddy two-step right then and there. _What the hell is going on with me?_

It’s not like Lexa is exactly unforthcoming with her attraction to Clarke. She tells Clarke every night they’re together with her mouth, her hands, even the way she _looks_ at her — but she’s not one to say any of it out loud. And Clarke’s fine with it. She really is. But in the small moments where Lexa _does_ verbalize any form of affection, even to tell Clarke she looks nice on a given day, Clarke finds herself feeling like a teenager whose crush just sent her a love note in class.

She clears her throat. “I can’t kick him out, he’s being really clingy, but looks like he’s falling asleep. If you want to come by.” Clarke looks over at Toby, snoring on his side by the fireplace.

“I’ll call a car. See you soon.”

-

Clarke’s eaten her disappointing risotto leftovers and tidied up her apartment by the time Lexa knocks on her door. Toby scrambles to his feet, always the first to greet guests.

She doesn’t notice it at first, because she opens the door and only really notices how nice Lexa looks, as usual. She’s dressed casually, heavy jacket over a long-sleeve shirt and pants, hair cascading down her shoulders as though she stepped out of a god-damn shampoo commercial.

_Fuck._

She doesn’t notice it.

But then she notices it when they lean in to hug hello. That faint smell of booze. A smell that isn’t always on Lexa when she comes over, but is there more often than not. She notices it in Lexa’s eyes as they pull away, the smallest bit glazed over as they turn to Toby.

“Hey, dog,” she says, her customary greeting as Toby’s new favorite person, patting him on the head.

Clarke steps aside to let her in, her mind going through the following questions at a rapid pace:

_Do I ask her about it?_

_Does she have a problem?_

_Do I have a problem?_

_Should I even be worried?_

And, before she can really stop herself, Clarke is speaking. “You been drinking?”

Lexa’s just begun to shrug off her coat when she looks up, a flash of what looks like _suspicion_ in her eyes. Clarke has never wanted a time machine more than in this exact moment.

“Just a few fingers of whiskey,” she says carefully, “Not about to fall over anytime soon.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that in, like, a judge-y way,” Clarke says, backtracking immediately. “Just was wondering —“

And Toby, fucking Toby, Clarke’s lifeline, whines and breaks the slight tension beginning to build between the two women, nudging against Clarke’s leg.

“Ah, shit, I forgot to walk him when I got home,” she says, shaking her head and pulling one of her jackets off her coat hanger. “Wanna come?”

Lexa’s coat is only partially off her shoulder at this point, and she tucks it back up. She’s seemingly decided to gloss over that extremely-not-ideal interaction they’ve just had. Thank god.

“Of course. But only on the condition that I get to hold the leash.”

-

They walk mostly in silence through the streets, making their way to Toby’s favorite dog park, one that looks over the city. Clarke spends a lot of her free afternoons sitting on the bench underneath a rickety gazebo that’s likely been there since the 60’s, letting Toby roam free and bully other dogs that bully him right back.

She finds herself gravitating towards the bench, not checking to see if Lexa is following, and takes a seat.

The city always seems alive, from up here. It feels like it’s always breathing, exhaling, inhaling, each little apartment light just another cell in its entirety. In her neighborhood, it often feels like she’s in her own world. Perhaps a little alone. And when she feels alone, which is often, she takes Toby, rain or shine, to this gazebo overlooking a city full of tiny people who feel just as alone. Even when she was living with Finn, Clarke would feel alone, and so, she would come here by herself — herself, and her dog.

As she looks out towards the city, she hears Lexa approaching, Toby on the other end of the leash.

“This seat taken?” Lexa asks, her voice impossibly gentle. Clarke looks up at her from her almost absent-minded gaze out towards the thousands of people and hones in on this one woman. This one woman who she’s taken with her here without a second thought. This one woman who has more likely than not saved the lives of many people in the city Clarke was just staring at.

She smiles. “I’m saving it for you, actually. You can let Toby off the leash, he’ll just roll around by himself for a bit. We can wait ’til he tires out and head back.”

Lexa kneels down to Toby’s eye level, fluffing up his head. Clarke looks back out towards the city, only hearing the cars passing by down below, and the soft clink of Toby’s leash coming off his collar. Toby launches towards his favorite tree, lifting his leg, and then starts sniffing around the park with his natural curiosity, no intentions of going anywhere, no intentions of doing anything.

“He really doesn’t waste any time, does he?” Lexa says, chuckling as she takes a seat beside Clarke, their legs touching.

_Their legs touching._

“It’s my fault. Got so caught up with the fucking risotto that I forgot he’s got needs, too.”

Lexa just hums in response, leaning back against the bench, and Clarke is immediately reminded of their first encounter together in the courtyard of the Ark Hospital. The faint streetlights outline her beautiful face like the Christmas lights did all those months ago, the slope of her nose, her full lips. And all Clarke can really think to do is _stare._

Lexa’s eyes look different tonight, she thinks to herself. Not just the typical glaze after a glass or two of wine. A bit wearier than usual.

“Are you alright?” Clarke asks, and Lexa almost seems startled, as though she’s forgotten Clarke was there. She turns to look back at her.

“Yeah, I —“ She sighs, turns, looks up at the sky just past the top of the gazebo, and down again. “I don’t know. Today’s a weird day. It’s alright, though.”

Clarke looks down at her feet, jiggling her leg slightly, rushing through the different questions she could ask in her mind. _Should I ask any questions, at all? Will she think that’s weird? Should I —_

“You know, we don’t have to just…” Clarke trails off and shakes her head, mostly at herself.

She doesn’t know what’s been happening to her, lately. She’s Clarke Griffin. She calculates carefully and quickly before she thinks or acts. She has to. It’s her job.

 _It’s her job._ She’s not doing her job right now. In fact, the moments she’s with Lexa are the only moments where she doesn’t feel like her brain is in Job Mode. Even when she’s out at a bar with her crew, she’s out with her work crew, and it’s impossible to not think about her job. When her mother calls, Clarke calculates, Clarke thinks, and then she screens the call.

So, for the first time in her living memory, Clarke lets herself speak freely.

“We don’t have to just be, like, physical,” she says quietly, and she can see Lexa’s face turn to her in her peripheral vision but can’t bring herself to look back just yet. “We’re…we’re friends, right? Or whatever. I — I care about you, and you’re allowed to talk to me about stuff.”

She closes her eyes, holding her breath for a second, heart racing. Lexa doesn’t speak for what feels like literal fucking hours, and Clarke feels like bolting.

And finally, _finally,_ Lexa is speaking.

“I lost someone.”

It’s then that Clarke looks at the other woman, who is now staring straight forward.

“Recently?”

“No, no,” Lexa says, shaking her head. She sniffles, just the tiniest bit, as if she's scratching a small itch in her nose. “It’s been years. She — she was, ah —“ Lexa shuffles her feet against the dirt underneath the bench, not making eye contact with Clarke.

“Costia. She was my — we were — she was my wife.”

 _The woman from the picture._ Clarke stays silent, knowing that moments like these ones are best left for those who experienced loss to speak.

“She was my wife, and she passed. Almost four years ago, now. And every holiday that’s passed since, whether it’s fucking Valentine’s day or Christmas or hell, July the 4th, it’s just — the whole thing where you think about the people you could be spending that time with. Wondering what you could have done differently. And I never thought I’d get over the pain, or the guilt.”

There’s a silence, and Clarke can’t find a word to describe the way she’s feeling other than _floored._ Grateful that Lexa seems to trust her enough to speak so candidly of her loss, but in disbelief that she’s chosen to do so.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. She reaches her hand over to briefly touch it to Lexa’s knee, and it’s then when she realizes Lexa has a few tears running down her face. “How did you? Get over the pain, I mean.”

Lexa looks up at Clarke, eyes watery, and then she’s looking straight forward again. Clarke finds herself selfishly wondering if this is Lexa’s way of saying she’s not ready to be with anyone, still wounded, this is as far as they’ll ever get, but she squashes the thought as soon as it comes.

Lexa sighs. “I didn’t. That’s the truth. I didn’t. And I wish I could give you some one-liner about how I realized that you shouldn’t ever care about anyone ever again, and now I never get hurt. And yes, that’s what I tried, at first, but it didn’t work. I — of course it didn’t.” She sniffles, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “So the truth is, I didn’t get over it. Not today.”

“Not today?”

“Not today. And what I mean by that is — what that means is —“ Lexa shakes her head, seemingly trying to get her thoughts together. “Sorry. I learned that grief isn’t — guilt and grief aren’t these final, ultimate hurdles to jump over before getting to the finish line. It’s running and feeling like you’ve gotten over the hurdle, but then another one hits you and you hardly see it coming. Sometimes, all I do is run, and it feels okay, because I know how to do that. Run, I mean. So I didn’t get over the pain today, but I got over it yesterday. And the day before that. And then I didn’t the day before that one. Sometimes, I go weeks just running without hitting the hurdles. Sometimes, every day is a fucking — it’s a fucking hurdle.”

Clarke, for the first time in her life, doesn’t know what to say. Not really. She knows all of the pacifying words, words for those who have just seen their loved one die in front of them. Words for those who are half-conscious in the back of her ambulance, already lamenting their particularly bad wounds. _It’ll be okay,_ she’ll say. _Look at me. No, not at your leg, look at me, here, take my hand. You can get through this. You’re doing great. Keep breathing. You’re doing great. Just breathe. Finn, don’t go — I promise I’ll do better. I’ll do better. You’re doing great._

But all she can do is watch as Lexa bites her lower lip, stifling the tears that have already come and been wiped away, staring up at the top of the gazebo.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, because that’s all she can think to say. “I’m sorry.”

Lexa lets out a watery laugh, seemingly startled at herself. “No, I should be the one who’s sorry. I didn’t expect to be unloading like that tonight.”

“I didn’t mean to force you into —“

“No, no,” Lexa says, her hands reaching for Clarke’s, watery green eyes meeting blue. “No, I’m glad you asked. I haven’t talked to anyone about — I haven’t spoken with someone so freely like this in years.”

Clarke’s heart lifts at this. “How does it feel?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Lexa admits, letting out another nervous laugh. “But thank you for listening.”

Lexa’s still holding both Clarke’s hands, each hand on top of the other’s, and they just _look_ at each other for a few moments. Clarke feels the same as she feels when she’s here alone, looking at the city, feeling less lonely. She feels her heart trying to not burst.

And just when she’s gotten it under control, just when she feels like she can peel her eyes away from Lexa because she doesn’t want to force Lexa to do anything she doesn’t want to, Lexa is leaning in. And Lexa is kissing her.

They share the occasional hello or goodbye pecks, but this — this is neither of those things. This is not a venereal kiss. Lexa is kissing Clarke without any expectations of deepening it and and turning Clarke on. Her full, warm lips are on Clarke’s for the sole purpose of kissing Clarke, it feels, and Clarke _melts_ into it, her hands moving from Lexa’s hands to cup her face, pulling her in impossibly close.

Their lips move together in quiet synchrony, and Clarke can’t even hear the cars racing past below anymore. Her ears don’t feel cold from the frost. All she feels is Lexa’s hand running through her hair, Lexa’s lips moving against hers, the gentle swipe of a tongue asking for entrance, and Clarke gives it to her. But even when their tongues meet, the kiss somehow still doesn’t feel charged, like it’s about to lead into them tearing each other’s clothes off.

And when they finally pull apart, their foreheads remain touching, Lexa’s eyes still closed, and Clarke can feel her breathing against her lips.

“Thank you for trusting me,” Clarke says, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Lexa’s ear. Lexa’s eyes flutter open, meeting Clarke’s, and they eventually pull away.

“Thanks for listening,” Lexa says quietly, staring down at her feet again, an unreadable expression on her face. And, once again, the selfish part of Clarke wonders if the kiss was just for comfort. A fluke. An absolute fluke. If Lexa just needed another warm body to feel against her. And, once again, Clarke stifles it, because Lexa has chosen to open up to her, and Clarke _cannot_ make this about herself. Not tonight.

Toby saunters over towards them, branch in his mouth, and drops it at Lexa’s feet, looking up at her expectantly with his tail wagging furiously.

“Wait, no way,” Clarke says, laughing. “He _never_ wants to play fetch.”

Lexa picks up the stick, standing up and looking over at Clarke, and winks. “Maybe we just have a connection that you and him don’t have.”

“Fucking ouch, woman,” Clarke says back, standing and stretching. Lexa throws the stick impressively far, Toby bolting after it, and she watches him skid in the grass just past the stick before picking it up in his mouth. He runs towards them and drops it at Lexa’s feet again.

 _I could get used to this,_ Clarke thinks to herself. But she won’t. Not yet. Tonight isn’t the night where she asks if she should.

So, she watches Lexa animatedly playing fetch with her dog, her throws getting more and more elaborate, faking a few and laughing when Toby starts after it before angrily looking at her and huffing.

And she lets herself feel at ease.

-

When they get back to Clarke’s apartment, their noses are red and Toby immediately goes to his bed and passes out. Lexa washes the dirt from her stick tirade off her hands in the bathroom as Clarke washes up the glass tupperware that housed her sad risotto.

It feels good. Like it’s right. Lexa in her bathroom, Clarke doing her chores in the kitchen. The right thing and the right place to be.

Clarke finishes up and wordlessly goes into her bedroom, lying down on her bed, thoughts racing while simultaneously stuck on a skipping record of _Lexa. Lexa. Lexa. Lexa._ Her reading lamp on her nightstand is the only dim source of light in her room.

She hears shuffling outside and suddenly Lexa is settling beside her, on her side, facing Clarke. Clarke rolls to face her. Neither of them speak as Lexa reaches and caresses Clarke’s face, staring at her like she’s the only person in this entire world. It’s just her, and Lexa, in Clarke’s room, Toby already snoring outside.

And when Lexa kisses her again, it doesn’t feel like a fluke. When Lexa kisses her again, Clarke feels like she’s melting all over again, safe, warm, in Lexa’s hands, finding solace in the warmth of her lips, her mouth.

They kiss like that for a while, soft, almost like neither of them want to break the peace they’ve created in this little bubble of theirs. It could be minutes or hours, Clarke doesn’t know.

And when Lexa deepens the kiss, an almost inaudible moan sounding out of her mouth, the time stops. Clarke doesn’t care if it’s been minutes or hours anymore. Lexa’s tongue licks into Clarke’s mouth and Clarke receives it with gratitude, allowing Lexa to roll her onto her back, both of Lexa’s forearms bracketing Clarke’s head.

And they kiss, and kiss, and kiss, tongues meeting constantly, and they only break apart when Lexa moves away for need of oxygen, both women starting to breathe heavily. Lexa places one of her hands on Clarke’s sternum, up her neck, caressing Clarke’s face again, never breaking eye contact.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispers, and Clarke could faint right then and there with the simplicity of the moment, all the cliches in the world passing through her head. She leans her head forward to crash her lips into Lexa’s again, because if she goes another second without kissing Lexa, she’s pretty sure she’ll fucking die.

The kiss grows exponentially in intensity from here, both of the women starting to breathe moans into each others mouths, hands starting to roam, Clarke’s hands sliding underneath Lexa’s shirt. Lexa sits up to shed it, and Clarke sits up to do the same, Lexa helping her pull off her t-shirt, and their mouths meet again while their hands work at the others’ bra. And in one swift movement, Lexa has shrugged off her bra and pulled Clarke in to straddle her lap.

Clarke holds the back of Lexa’s head, letting out a whine when Lexa’s teeth meet her pulse point, kissing and kissing her as they’re sat up, one arm bracing Clarke’s back. Clarke feels heat pulsing and pulsing, moving from her stomach down, down, down, and it almost hits a breaking point when Lexa’s mouth moves to envelop Clarke’s nipple, slowly licking up and down.

“Fuck,” Clarke says, and when Lexa’s mouth lets go of her nipple, they both scramble to shed their pants, awkwardly squirming beside each other, and they both laugh.

“Every time,” Lexa says, unzipping and sliding out of her pants, left only in her underwear. “There is no sexy way to pull your pants off while you’re lying down.”

They chuckle together, and then their laughs turn into moans when Lexa moves back on top of Clarke, both of them now only in their panties. They kiss. And they kiss.

And by the time Lexa’s stomach makes contact between the apex of Clarke’s thighs, Clarke is soaked, and she knows it. Lexa groans into Clarke’s mouth as she grinds into her.

“I can feel you,” she breathes into Clarke’s ear. “So wet for me.”

Clarke doesn’t have the brain capacity to respond properly, only gripping the back of Lexa’s neck tight. “Put your leg in between mine, I wanna feel you, too.”

Lexa swings her leg over Clarke’s thigh, and Clarke raises it to meet Lexa’s heat, moaning when she finds that Lexa is just as wet as she is, and again when Lexa’s thigh makes contact with Clarke.

The two of them move like this for a long time, growing more and more frenetic with each grind, moaning and whispering curse words and each others’ names into each others’ ears. Lexa’s thigh moves against Clarke with a precision that shouldn’t even be humanely possible. And Clarke thought she could never come like this, especially when neither of them have even gotten their underwear off, but she finds herself hurtling towards the peak.

“Oh my god, _fuck_ , I think I’m gonna come,” Clarke moans, her voice cracking slightly. Lexa’s movements don’t stop, only steady into a better momentum.

“Me too,” she groans in Clarke’s ear. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”

They rarely talk during sex, only to communicate to each other what they want, and this newness only drives Clarke further and further towards her climax.

It’s when Lexa finally breaks, riding Clarke’s leg erratically, her breath held and body shaking, that Clarke allows herself to do the same, and they both cry out each others’ names. Clarke’s vision goes white and she comes, and comes, and comes, and they both are left in sweaty, panting states, Lexa on top of Clarke.

And Clarke could have ended the night here, she really could have, but then Lexa is kissing her neck, licking up and into the shell of Clarke’s ear, and Clarke turns into liquid again. Lexa props herself up, moves her hand down Clarke’s stomach, the question in her eyes: _is this okay?_

Clarke looks at her back and parts her lips, nodding almost imperceptibly. _It’s okay. It’s good._

Lexa kisses Clarke fully, licking into the roof of her mouth, her hand ghosting over Clarke’s soaked underwear, probably completely ruined. Her middle finger slides up the length of Clarke’s folds from the outside, all the way up, then underneath her waistband. She pulls away, both her mouth from Clarke’s mouth and hand from her underwear, and Clarke honest-to-god _whines_ at the loss of contact.

“Take this off,” Lexa says, and from the dim light, Clarke can see that her pupils are blown, sweat beading at her hairline, and she doesn’t think she’s seen anything more beautiful in her entire fucking life. She nods, reaching down and shimmying out of her underwear, and Lexa helps her out of it, throwing it off to the side. And Clarke is ready for Lexa to kiss her, to fuck her, but then there’s another pause.

She lifts her head to see Lexa biting her lip. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Definitely. Do you have any — do you have toys?” Lexa says, and there’s hesitation for the first time in her voice since they first kissed in Clarke’s bed.

“Yeah — yeah, under my bed,” Clarke breathes. “I have, uh, a — a strapless dildo.”

Lexa’s eyes go from hesitant to hungry. Feral. “Can we use it?”

_Oh, help._

“Yes. God, yes.” Clarke says to her past self _you're the absolute best,_ _you idiot_ for cleaning it as thoroughly as she did after using it on herself last week.

Lexa lifts herself off of Clarke, and Clarke rolls over and reaches underneath her bed for a box — it doesn’t have much, really, a harness, the strapless purple dildo, lube, a vibrator — and lifts the harness and dildo up. It’s not a massive dildo, by any means, with a built-in vibrator for the wearer, a bulb for the wearer to insert into themselves. The harness is simply to make sure it stays inside of the wearer.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” she asks, and Lexa shakes her head.

“No. No, I want to fuck you,” Lexa says, taking the harness and dildo. “Lie back.”

Clarke wordlessly shifts onto her back as Lexa pushes the shorter end of the curved dildo into herself, inhaling sharply at the sensation. Clarke feels a flood of heat come out at the sight.

“It has a — it has a vibrator,” she stammers, her mind turning into blank mush at the sight of Lexa with the dildo settled between her legs. Lexa stands at the side of the bed and shimmies into the harness, pulling it out so that she can fit the O ring over the dildo.

Lexa runs her hand over the bottom of the dildo. “Button’s down here?”

Clarke nods.

“I’ll turn it on later.” Lexa kneels onto the bed. “Spread your legs.”

Clarke would be embarrassed at how unbearably turned on she gets when Lexa tells her what to do in bed, but there isn’t any room for that right now. Not when Lexa looks at her with hunger in her eyes, not when Clarke spreads herself and Lexa looks down with something that looks like reverence in her eyes.

But Lexa doesn’t immediately go to fuck her. Instead, she bends down, and without warning, her tongue is swiping through Clarke’s folds.

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” Clarke cries out, her hands shooting down to grasp at Lexa’s hair. Lexa eats her out like she can’t fucking get enough, sucking and lapping at wet heat, fucking her with her tongue before flicking Clarke’s clit. And when she goes to suck on Clarke’s clit, Clarke can already start feeling her vision starting to go white again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she whines, and Lexa moans her approval.

And if Clarke wasn’t already on the precipice, she gets there when Lexa slides two fingers into her with ease, curling up in shallow thrusts against Clarke’s front wall, almost immediately adding a third when she finds how wet Clarke already is. And Clarke explodes.

Her body goes rigid and she claws at Lexa’s hair while Lexa fucks her relentlessly, her heart pounding in her ears, back arching, and she feels like all the blood in her body is rushing into her head. And once again, she comes and she comes, and she doesn’t know how it’s possible for one person to come as hard as she is right now, until she’s a shaking mess and Lexa is licking her clean.

“Sorry,” Lexa says, wiping her mouth and grinning. “I just was — I was going to fuck you but — I needed to taste you.”

“Come here,” Clarke groans, and Lexa happily obliges, Clarke tasting herself on Lexa’s lips. And they kiss like that for longer while Clarke gathers her bearings, knowing Lexa wants to fuck her more and knowing she still has it in her.

Slowly, Lexa starts to move against Clarke, the length of the dildo collecting her wetness and rubbing against her clit.

“Can I fuck you again?” Lexa says, and Clarke feels a rush of warmth flow through her, warmth that isn’t purely from being so turned on she might pass out. Lexa, who was just fucking her ruthlessly, like there was no tomorrow, is asking Clarke’s permission to do the same again.

“Please,” she says, reaching up to brush a strand of hair sticking to a sweaty forehead.

“Slow?”

Clarke shakes her head. “I think we’ve had enough foreplay.”

At this, Lexa lets out a chuckle, and Clarke is pretty sure it’s the most glorious sound she’s ever heard. She reaches to the side table where she’s placed the lube, squeezing it into her hand and covering the dildo, and Clarke is half-amused that she thinks she even needs it.

The half-amusement dissipates the moment Lexa is back between her legs.

“Ready?”

“Please, yes, I —“

And Lexa is entering her fully, sheathing the extension of herself fully inside of Clarke until they’re hip to hip, and Clarke lets out a strangled moan. She places her hands on Lexa’s thighs, keeping her still as she gets used to the stretch, but it doesn’t take long before she’s pushing at Lexa to continue.

And Lexa continues. She continues, and continues, pounding into Clarke, the bed knocking against the wall, and Clarke’s eyes honest-to-god start _watering_ at how good it is, Lexa’s hand grasping at her throat while her other one braces herself against the headboard.

They continue like this until Clarke is close to the edge again, her walls starting to clench around Lexa, her breathing growing more and more erratic, and Lexa stills her movements. Clarke lifts her head.

“What —“

“Don’t come. Not yet,” Lexa says, brushing the hair out of Clarke’s face.

Clarke lets out an extended “ _fuck_ ” as she lies back against her pillow. Lexa doesn’t move from inside her and Clarke feels herself pulsing against the dildo, allowing Clarke to come down from her almost-high for a few moments.

“Get on top,” Lexa says, and she suddenly pulls out of Clarke, Clarke whining at the sensation. Lexa rolls onto her back, and Clarke finds the wherewithal to shakily sit up and straddle Lexa. Lexa reaches between the two of them and there’s a click of a button, and a buzzing noise, and Clarke’s stomach tightens at the implications of it.

“Fuck yourself and touch yourself until you come,” Lexa says, placing her hands on Clarke’s hips and guiding her up and over the dildo. Clarke guides it so that it’s lined up with her entrance, and looks to Lexa — for something that resembles _permission._ And Lexa nods.

Clarke sinks down and falls forward, moving her body up and down, the dildo hitting _just_ the right spots inside of her, the vibrations adding sensations that she didn’t even know she could fucking feel. Lexa moans from underneath her, egging Clarke on. She braces a forearm on the side of Lexa’s head and reaches down to touch herself, rubbing slippery circles on her own clit.

They move like this until Clarke isn’t sure she can hold herself up anymore.

“I can’t — I can’t —“

And Lexa understands. She holds Clarke into her chest, trapping Clarke’s hand between them.

“Let me do the work, baby.”

And Clarke could have come right then and there at the pet name, but then Lexa is lifting her hips and pumping up into her, groaning, the sounds of their sex filling Clarke’s ears, Clarke’s fingers now moving against her own clit with the momentum Lexa is providing her.

“Tell me when you’re close,” she says into Lexa’s ear, and Lexa only keens as she fucks her. And right when Clarke feels like she can’t hold it for any longer, right when she’s about to let go and just _hope_ that Lexa does soon after, Lexa is holding Clarke so tight against her that Clarke feels like she can hardly breathe.

“God. Now,” Lexa moans, and Clarke lets go. They both let out cries into each others’ ears, moving against each other, the air humid around them, until they’re both a boneless heap. Clarke doesn’t know where she ends and Lexa begins.

When she feels like she’s about to pass out, Clarke lifts herself off of the dildo, gasping at the sudden emptiness. Lexa unclips the harness, sliding it down her legs, and chucks it off to the side of the bed.

They both manage to get under the covers, and Lexa is looking at Clarke like she’s never looked at Clarke before. With reverence. Something that looks like _love._ And Clarke looks right back at her, matching her gaze.

Then, Lexa’s eyes are closed. Clarke could swear that she’s — _is she?_ —

And Lexa is crying. Tears flow from her eyes, and Clarke is at a loss for what to do, so she just pulls Lexa in, holds her. She holds Lexa and Lexa leans into Clarke, crying against her neck. Lexa cries, stifling sobs, and Clarke holds her, rubbing her back, kissing her temple, saying _it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay._

They do this until Lexa eventually goes still, her breath steady and warm against Clarke’s collarbone. Clarke reaches over to turn the reading light off.

“Good night, Lexa,” she whispers into her hair.

And she drifts off into sleep.

At ease.

-

Clarke dreams that there’s a call to the station, and the sirens are ringing, but they won’t tell her where it is. She’s the only one working. Why is she the only one working? Why won’t they tell her where she needs to go? Where’s Raven? Bellamy? What’s going —

She wakes with a jolt.

The first thing she registers is the bright light coming from her window. _Fuck. Forgot to shutter the blinds last night._

The second thing she registers is the pleasant soreness in every part her body.

The third thing she registers is the lack of another presence in her bed. She looks to her side to see that Lexa is no longer there. _Did she go to the bathroom? Is she showering?_

But there isn’t any sound coming from the hall.

She doesn’t work today. Clarke doesn’t work until the evening.

“Lexa?” she calls out. She hears Toby’s paws padding around on the hardwood.

Nothing.

Clarke rolls out of bed, pulling out a fresh pair of underwear and wrapping herself in a nightgown, wandering outside of her room. There’s a feeling starting to bubble in the bottom of her stomach. Something that feels like anxiety. No, deeper than that. Darker than that. Dread.

“Lexa?” She scans the apartment. Looks to the end of the hallway. Lexa’s jacket and shoes are no longer there.

So, Clarke sits at her kitchen counter and holds onto hope. She holds onto the hope that Lexa has stepped out to grab them breakfast, some coffee, maybe. She holds onto hope like she holds onto hope when there’s a patient in her ambulance that’s so far gone. When patients like that exit the ambulance into the emergency room, sometimes, Clarke doesn’t follow up. She lives in a world where the patient made a miraculous recovery with no long-term damage.

Half an hour later, Toby is whining at her feet for a walk. She swallows her pride and goes to get her phone.

**Clarke** Hey — you okay? Disappeared on me there.

Clarke has brushed her teeth and gotten properly dressed by the time Lexa responds.

**Lexa** Hey all good. Had some errands to run.

 **Clarke** Oh okay, didn't realize you needed to head out early today. Need help with anything?

Another extended pause. Clarke shrugs on her jacket, heart sinking into her throat, her stomach. Her phone buzzes again.

**Lexa** Nope.

 **Lexa** Thanks. See you around.

And it’s when she reads that text — the nonchalant “see you around” — when Clarke knows.

The patient rarely makes a miraculous recovery, anyway. The patient almost makes it, but ultimately succumbs.

Clarke wonders to herself why she ever holds onto hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls dont be mad!!! like, at lexa, but also not at me!! the girl has a lot to work through, okay?!?!
> 
> let me know what you thought :^)  
> -t


	8. Lexa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year friends. thank you so much for all your comments, i read through each and every one of them and appreciate them so friggin much.

Lexa has always had steady hands. Dr. Dante Wallace used to tell her that he hasn’t seen hands so precise, so controlled, in his entire tenure as a surgeon. Gus makes jokes about how she should connect with techies and innovators to see if they can get a patent of whatever it is that makes her hands as steady as they are. _Quit being a surgeon, become a multi-bazillionaire, Lexa!_ She’s never thought much of it. Keeping her hands steady has never been a conscious effort.

Lexa has saved lives with just her hands. She has loved entire bodies with just her hands. Her hands know the drying of tears, her own and others. Her hands know the weight of drunken collapses, of slow, soothing rubs on the back to ease the vomiting. Her hands know the cold condensation of a crystal glass of bourbon, on ice. They know tense shoulders and the stern work of calming them. Lexa’s hands know a quiver, they know skin. Lexa’s hands know rough and gentle, know quick and slow. They know frantic, they know assured. They know to navigate the entire world that is the inside of a human body with nothing but a scalpel. They know to brush the hair out of Clarke’s face when Clarke’s hands are too busy to do it herself.

So, when she looks down at her hands holding her cellphone, sitting at her kitchen table, and she sees the slight tremors, she feels as though her hands are not her own. She texts Clarke back with a _see you around_ and her hands start to shake. Lexa wonders if perhaps they’ve been shaking since this morning since she left a sleeping Clarke in her bed, but she just hasn’t noticed until now. She feels warm, too warm.

 _See you around._ The final nail in the coffin. There is no coming back from there. Clarke doesn’t respond. Lexa is so relieved that she could die, and another part is so ashamed she could die. She takes a shower that’s just the right amount of scalding hot — nothing debilitating. Punishment. Dry heaves a few times. _What’s happening to me?_

When she gets out of the shower, she looks at her hands again. Still somewhat shaky. She vaguely wonders to herself if perhaps it’s a neurological issue. Early-onset Parkinson’s? It’s not uncommon.

_Clarke kissing your forehead saying it’s going to be okay Clarke listening to you as you talk about the feelings of failure and pain from losing Costia for the first time in your life Clarketelling you it’s going to be okay Clarke inside of you Clarke looking at you the way she looked at you Clarke making you feel like maybe you could be loved again Clarke Clarke Clarke_

Could be Parkinson’s.

_Probably not._

-

Lexa sits on her balcony, leaning back against the rickety white patio chair. It’s raining. She has to head to work in three hours. She needs to eat something. Her hands still shake the slightest bit. It’s as if her thoughts are robotic, automatic, similar to how they work during an operation.

Her morning is an operation. The operation is the conveyer belt in a factory and her hands are the machines that punch holes and twist screws. Her brain is the mechanism of the computers that algorithmically tell her hands what to do.

Food. Work. Eat. Work. Sleep. _Why are my hands shaking?_

Clarke’s mouth on hers. The way Clarke looked at her like she _understood._ The way Clarke opened her arms, allowed Lexa comfort. How Clarke —

She’s fairly sure she hears a knock on her door, but she’s too far away to tell if it’s just a ghost of a sound. Perhaps a neighbor. Something from outside. _I need food_ —

Another knock. _Definitely not hearing things._

Lexa is at the door and she feels as though she’s done it unconsciously. Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. Reach. Open.

Anya.

They stare at each other for a few moments, Anya poised as though ready for a physical attack. Then, finally,

“Lexa. You look terrible. Can I come in?”

Step back, gesture inside. Anya shrugs off her jacket as she walks, ignoring the hooks by the door and slinging it over Lexa’s couch. _God dammit, Anya. The hooks are right there._ Lexa strides toward the jacket, picking it up and pointedly hanging it on the hooks. She stands there for a few moments, just staring at the jacket. There is a tiny piece of fluff on the collar. She pinches it off. Stares at the collar for a long while. _Are there any other pieces I should get?_

“Lexa?”

And it’s then when Lexa breaks. It’s odd, how emotions work. How you can let it sit behind a dam and collect so much water that the slightest crack can drown out entire towns. She breaks and lets out a stifled sob that scares her with its intensity, its sudden appearance. Lexa collapses onto the floor, sliding down the wall, legs too weak to hold her weight up. She cries, lets out heaving sobs. Barely registers that Anya has rushed to sit by her, cradle her in her arms.

Barely registers her whispering _it’s okay, what’s going on, what’s going on?_ into her ear.

And she doesn’t quite know why, but it’s in that moment when it all clicks.

Lexa only had two fingers of whiskey last night. She did not go back to Clarke’s apartment and continue drinking. She did not ask Clarke for a glass of wine. The hand trembling, the sweating, the anxiety.

This is the longest she has gone without downing multiple drinks in the evening in her recent memory.

Lexa is experiencing symptoms of withdrawal.

-

“Call in sick.”

“I can’t.”

“Lexa. I’ll break your fucking leg if it means you’ll call in.”

Anya and Lexa sit on the floor in front of the coat that Lexa had hung for Anya. Lexa isn’t entirely sure if Anya is kidding or not.

-

Their parents once caught them in a tussle when they were kids. Anya, 14, clad in a children’s bathrobe with wet hair dripping all over the carpet, had Lexa, 10, in a near-lethal headlock.

“ _Anya!” Lexa yelled, pounding on the bathroom door. “I have to brush my teeth and you’ve been showering forever!”_

_“Go gargle some dish soap! I bet your breath stinks too much for toothpaste, anyway.”_

_“I’m telling mom and dad and they’re gonna send you back to the orphanage!”_

There was a squeak of the shower handle. A scuffle behind the door, the sound of Anya wrapping a towel around her. Then, the door flung open.

 _“Frick off. You think they’d send_ me _back? I bet they wouldn’t even have adopted you if you hadn’t had your weird freaky nerd brain,”_ she’d said, pushing Lexa backwards. _“Also, what kinda four-year old knows multiplication? That’s messed up.”_

_“They only adopted you because you probably looked weak and dumb.”_

_“I’ll show you weak and dumb, you freak!”_

_-_

Lexa leans her head back against the wall, eyes slightly puffy from crying. “I can’t call in. I need the distraction.”

“What happened to you?” Anya asks, sliding along the floor so that she’s facing Lexa. “Did something happen at work? Did —”

Lexa could swear she can see the lightbulb appear above Anya’s head as Anya’s eyes widen the slightest bit.

“The paramedic?”

There’s a long pause, and Lexa looks up at Anya to see that Anya’s got The Look on her face. The one where she won’t let go of her question unless she’s forcibly removed from Lexa’s space. And Lexa isn’t so sure she’d be able to win in a fight against Anya.

So, Lexa tells her. Most of it, at least. About Clarke taking her to a gazebo. Lexa opening up for the first time since Costia died. How everything felt like it changed after Lexa told Clarke about the pain, the guilt. The way Clarke looked at her like _I see you. I see you._ The way Clarke looked at her in bed after they —

“Gross, okay, nope, leave out the details.”

And when she shows Anya the text on her phone —

“Wh — are you a fucking sociopath?”

Lexa sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. Anya all but tosses the phone back to Lexa.

“Okay. Let me repeat what you just said back to you so I can confirm I heard you right. You talked about Costia — which, by the way, you wouldn’t even do with me — and Clarke comforted you, then you hump-and-dumped her? _See you around?_ That’s — Lexa, I love you like a sister —”

“That joke has _never_ been funny.”

“— I love you like a sister, but this is seriously fucked up. Next-level fucked up. You can’t treat people like this.”

“Jesus, Anya. You think I don’t know that?” Lexa unsteadily rises from her sitting position.

Anya does the same, shaking her head, exasperation in her eyes. “This isn’t sustainable. The way you’re living your life — this is _not_ sustainable.”

“It’s too early for this.”

“Shut up.” Anya _glares_ at Lexa, and while Lexa is often not scared of Anya, this glare is one she doesn’t see often, and it always gets her heart racing just the tiniest bit.

“You can’t keep living like this. I was coming to say this anyway, but this just adds the cherry on top of an incredibly sad cake.”

Lexa indignantly throws her hands up in the air, feeling her frustration rising at an exponential rate, and strides into her room. “I don’t have time for this. I have to get ready for work. Impeccable timing, as always, Anya.”

Much to her chagrin, and not much to her surprise, Anya follows.

“You’ve been screening mine and Lincoln’s calls and texts for weeks. We were giving you space, not knocking on your door, waiting, but it’s been long enough — _stop,_ ” Anya snaps as Lexa rummages through her closet for a t-shirt. Lexa sighs, not turning to Anya, but she stops.

“It’s been long enough. Grief is _not_ an excuse to treat people like this. You can’t keep living this way, acting like it’s your own personal burden to shoulder. I miss her, too, but _fuck,_ Lexa, this shit extends far beyond and before Cos passing.”

Lexa clenches her jaw. Starts counting in her head to distract herself from the emotion threatening to overtake her again.

“It’s not grief,” she says under her breath, closing her eyes.

“What?”

“I said, it’s not _fucking_ grief!” Lexa whirls around, steps into Anya’s space, and Anya does nothing but stand and stare like a statue. _Damn_ her and her composure.

“It’s not grief, it’s guilt,” Lexa continues, tears welling in her eyes _again,_ and she can’t even begin to describe how angry she is at Anya for starting this again, starting this after the night Lexa's just had. “It’s guilt. It’s been guilt for a long time. I’ve had plenty of time to grieve, but you have _no_ idea what the guilt has been like.”

Anya furrows a brow.

Lexa sighs in frustration. “She was using. Costia was — she was using for _two years_ and I didn’t notice. Even if I did, I would have ignored it, because that’s what I was — am good at. And I — I left her. She died alone. Alone, Anya. She died after we fought.”

“I know that.”

“Sure, you know that, but do you know what I said to her? Right before? I told her maybe it was a mistake for us to get married. And I would be _stupid_ to think that I could ever be with anyone after that —“

“You fucking surgeons and your god complexes,” Anya says. “Breaking news, Lexa, you aren’t the ultimate decider of who lives and who dies. Did I miss the memo? Is my sister god? Are you a god?”

“No, but —“

“We didn’t notice she was using, either, Lexa. None of us did. None of us expected it.”

At this point, the tears are flowing down Lexa’s face. Anya continues to speak.

“You’re struggling. You’re struggling so much, and you won’t let anyone help you. You won’t let me help you. Do you know how hard it’s been, watching my own baby sister become an alcoholic —“

“I’m not an alcoholic —“

“Stop interrupting me. Fuck.” Anya whirls around, head in her hands, and she sits on Lexa’s bed, her face still in her hands. And Lexa doesn’t understand what she’s doing, she doesn’t process it, not until she hears the choked sob.

Anya is crying.

Anya never cries.

She looks up from her hands, eyes already red-rimmed. “Fuck. Fuck, Lexa. You’re your own worst enemy. I don’t know anyone who hates you as much as you hate yourself. Not a single person. Lincoln knows what happened between you because Costia called him a few hours before — before she —“ Anya shakes her head, her voice cracking.

At this, Lexa is stunned. This whole time, she thought that Lincoln and Anya only knew that they’d gotten into a tiff, an argument, nothing serious.

Nothing about Lexa’s drinking.

Nothing about Lexa saying to Costia that she regrets marrying her only hours before she dropped dead in their living room.

“You knew?”

“We knew. He knows what you said to her, almost verbatim. I know. And still, I love you. Still, Lincoln loves you like you’re his sister. You’re a human fucking being. People say things they don’t mean when they’re angry. She knew you didn’t mean it, but here you are, punishing yourself every day. And you are slowly, slowly killing yourself.”

Lexa stands in silence as Anya quietly cries in front of her. She wrings her hands, heart starting to feel like it’s pounding inside of her throat.

“Ark offered you a psychiatrist. Psychologist. Bereavement counselling. All of it. And you took none of it, because you think you don’t deserve help, or to feel better. You think that by living in your guilt, you’re paying for a crime that you think you committed. But you’re not paying for it, because what you did wasn’t a crime. It was human. And you know what, Lexa?” Anya wipes away at her tears. “Not only are you trying to pay for it, you’re making all of us pay for it by being the way you are.”

Lexa hears her pager going off in the kitchen.

_Fuck._

“Fuck,” she mutters, closing her eyes. Anya stands, sniffling and wiping her tears.

“Go to work if you have to. I won’t reach out to you again. I’ll leave you alone. You can reach out to me when you’re ready, and I’ll be here, but I can’t force this on you anymore. And as for the paramedic situation — I don’t know exactly what you guys’ relationship was like. But I know you had a good thing going with her and you self-destructed, like you always do with everything good that comes your way. And it’s only a matter of time before you self-destruct to the point of no return.”

And with that, Anya breezes past Lexa without another word. Lexa collects herself the best she can. She goes to her pager. The ER is overrun.

She checks her phone. Clarke has not texted back.

She doesn’t know what she expected, really.

-

Lexa’s last surgery for the day is a mess and her hands are still trembling the slightest bit. Three hours in and she’s made no tangible mistakes so far, but no mistakes doesn’t mean a saved patient.

 _No mistakes_ doesn’t mean _no death_.

He starts to flatline.

“Clear,” Indra says. Paddles on skin.

Nothing. Flatline. It gets underneath Lexa’s skin.

“Clear,” Indra says. Paddles on skin.

Nothing. Flatline. Lexa has stopped breathing.

“Clear,” Indra says. Paddles on skin.

_It’s my fault. My hands were shaking._

"Clear."

_It’s all my fault._

"Clear."

-

They call the time of death and stitch him up. Clear away the body.

“Home time,” Gustus mutters under his breath.

“Yep.”

“You all good?”

“Yep.”

“Lexa —“

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Gus.”

-

Lexa goes home and finishes off a bottle of wine.

_I’ll stop tomorrow._

-

**One week later**

It’s only a half-conscious decision. She finished work early and found herself hopping into an Uber to Clarke’s.

Lexa’s been in a dream state for the majority of the week. Too much has happened for her brain to be able to process it completely, and she’s not sure if she’s ready to even try. Anya has stopped trying to contact her, waiting for Lexa to make the move, this time.

And Lexa wants to contact her. She really does. She really, truly does. But all she can think about is the patient that died this week. Her trembling hands. As with any patient death, there’s a board review, and Lexa is expecting them to say she did something outrageous, like nick the dural sac, or maybe even an artery, and she just somehow didn’t notice. But then the board says “no action necessary”, the same result for any of her surgeries.

But it was her fault. She can tell. There’s no physical evidence, but it’s got to be her fault.

So, it’s only a half-conscious decision, a half-conscious ride there, and when she ends up in front of Clarke Griffin’s apartment door, she curls her hand into a fist. Knocks on the door.

She smiles to herself, a small, brief smile, when she hears the familiar sound of Toby’s paws skittering across the hardwood. The smile disappears as soon as she hears a “Kennel” close to the door, and a slight whine. The sound of paws fading away.

Lexa sees the peephole in the door darken. She can’t see Clarke’s eye, but she knows that she’s looking. And there is a pause that feels hours long. Lexa swallows the lump in her throat and is about to turn on her heel and walk away when she hears the click of the lock. The door opens. Clarke is standing right in front of Lexa and Lexa goes from feeling half-conscious to fully alert and awake.

“Lexa.”

Lexa nearly flinches at the clipped tone. Clarke doesn’t take her hand off the doorknob on her side.

“Did you leave something here?”

Lexa is entirely cognizant that Clarke has not stepped back to let her in. Her heart is in her throat.

“No, I —“ Lexa runs a hand through her hair. _Say it. Say you’re sorry. Say it won’t happen again. Say you’re dealing with it. Say you’ve woken up. Say you have feelings for her, that she’s the first woman to make her feel listened to, the first woman she’s met who is so starkly determined to help others._

Her eyes well up before she even has a chance to see it coming.

“I lost a patient. This week. And I think it was my fault. My — my hands were shaking.”

Clarke just _stares,_ brows furrowed, and Lexa can’t tell if it’s out of sympathy or anger.

“I’m sorry about the other night,” Lexa says finally, tears streaming down her face. “I’m so sorry. It was hurtful and unnecessary and I shouldn’t have said that.”

Clarke clears her throat, looks down at her feet, then back up at Lexa. She lets out a sigh.

“You can come in for a bit,” she says quietly, stepping back, and Lexa’s heart lifts a little with hope.

When she enters, she hears Toby’s wagging tail hitting the walls of his kennel before she sees him. He looks like he wants to leap out towards her, and Lexa wants him to. But Clarke does not give the signal to let him leave.

“Do you want tea? Water?” she asks, rummaging through her cabinets.

“Water would be nice, thanks,” Lexa says politely. This feels wrong. This all feels so, so, profoundly wrong. She’s never seen Clarke cold like this before, and it’s terrifying and suffocating.

She seats herself on Clarke’s couch, Toby’s tail still wagging. Clarke does not acknowledge him as she takes a seat adjacent to Lexa on the L-couch, setting two waters in front of them.

They sit in silence like that for a few moments. Long moments. Clarke’s hair is up in a messy bun. She twiddles her thumbs. _Did Clarke usually twiddle her thumbs?_ It starts to rain outside, the pitter-patter feeling louder than usual in the quiet.

When Clarke clears her throat, Lexa almost jumps.

“I was, ah — I was in a relationship for 6 years,” she says, picking at a loose thread in her sweatpants. “His name is Finn. He left me by leaving a note on a real estate mail insert. Dick move, sure, but it was my fault, really,” she says, letting out a sardonic chuckle. “He loved me so, so much and I wanted to love him the same, but I loved my job more. I loved feeling useful. Hated feeling like I was tied to someone, because if you lose them, you’re untethered. And when you work in jobs like we do — well, you know what it’s like in this field. You see death every day. Couldn’t help but think — _what if I lose him?_ And it was that _stupid,_ fucked-up logic that kept me from loving him fully.”

Clarke reaches forward, takes a sip of her water, and leans back against the couch. Lexa stays silent, watching Clarke speak.

“So he left. And even before that, I’ve always been a guarded person.” Clarke shakes her head. “It’s such a fucking cliche, to be _guarded._ And I don’t know why I am, I wish I wasn’t, but it — it’s difficult for me to talk about my feelings. I’ve always had this problem where I’m afraid if I say something out loud to someone, it becomes real. Even though it’s already real. But when Finn left, it was like every reason I had to guard myself was validated. I was right, I thought to myself. Thank god I didn’t tie myself to him, otherwise I would be much more devastated than I am now. I will never tie myself to anyone. ”

Clarke’s next words hit Lexa soundly in the gut.

“Then I met you.”

There’s another pause as the phrase sets in for the two of them. Clarke is now looking directly at Lexa. Her expression is indecipherable; somewhere between anger, sadness, everything in between.

“I met you. And we never set any — boundaries, or rules, or whatever. And I was okay with that. I really was. An arrangement. Sure. Two lonely people, just trying to be a little less lonely. And I think if we’d continued hooking up and not opening up emotionally, I could keep myself safe and separated. Guarded. But then the other night happened. And you opened up to me.”

Lexa closes her eyes, her head tilting down in shame.

“And things changed. I don’t know if you felt it, too, but it changed. I thought to myself that maybe it was time. Time to let go of the notion of _tying_ myself to someone, and just _be._ And I’ve never felt like this for anyone before. It felt like you were doing the same, that you felt the same, that you felt how things had changed with us.”

“I felt it,” Lexa whispers.

Clarke nods, looking down at her feet.

“I had — have feelings for you, Lexa. I think I have from the start, but the other night just made it so clear that they weren’t just — it’s not just some crush. I think I was falling for you. I fell for you. And I know it’s only been a few months, but fuck,” Clarke says, rubbing her eyes, running a hand through her hair. “It’s just… there. The feelings. And they’re so strong, and I don’t know where to put it all. It’s like — it’s like I have this armful of feelings for you and I don’t know where to put it down, because I can’t give any of it to you.”

“You can,” Lexa says, voice hoarse. “You can.”

Clarke shakes her head, a wistful smile on her face. She shakes her head and looks at Lexa and Lexa’s stomach drops. Clarke shakes her head and Lexa knows what’s coming before it even comes.

“It’s too late,” Clarke says. She takes a second to compose herself, and is looking at Lexa again. “It’s too late.”

“Clarke —“

“Thank you for apologizing,” Clarke says, “But I — I can’t. I can’t keep seeing you. I can’t take the risk. Not anymore. I can’t have you doing this push and pull, and I don’t — the truth is, Lexa, I can’t let myself feel as though things have changed, and have the rug pulled out from under me again. Not with someone I only just met a few months ago.”

_Fuck._

“And I am so, so sorry for everything you’ve been going through. No one should have to go through what you’re going through. Especially not you.” Clarke takes a deep breath, exhales. She seems entirely in control. Lexa finds herself envious of the fact. “But I need to protect myself. And for my own sake, I can’t be with someone who carries as much weight as you do while being so passive. Not when I’m just starting to learn how to not do the same. I have to protect myself and unburden my own weight, first.”

 _This is a breakup._ Is it a breakup if they never made it official? What does being official even mean? Lexa’s chest feels tight. Her and Clarke have only been dating — _no, sleeping together_ — for three months. They’ve only known each other for three months. So why does it feel like Clarke is breaking up a 5 year long relationship? That Lexa is losing one of the most important people in her whole life? Why?

Perhaps it’s because Clarke is the first outside signifier she’s ever had that has given her permission to move on, to forget. To live outside of her head. Clarke is the real-world shoulder shake that Lexa has needed to understand that she can’t continue to live the way she is.

But she has failed. She has lost. Lexa has failed and lost _so much._

She can’t say anything. Knows she can’t say anything. Doesn’t have any fight left in her, not against Clarke, who seems as though she is long past making up her mind about this.

“Okay,” she whispers, nodding. “Thank you for telling me. You need to do what’s best for you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.”

Another silence. Lexa clears her throat, rises from her couch. Clarke does the same.

They walk in silence to the front door, and Lexa turns to Clarke. Not necessarily to say any last words, not to beg for her to change her mind, but just to look at her one last time, in her apartment, Toby in the background.

But when she looks at Clarke, her resolve fails and she talks, anyway. She needs to say it. It’s perched under her chin, and Clarke needs to know.

“I fell for you, too,” she says. “In case that doesn’t go without saying.”

She sees Clarke’s throat bob as she swallows, and Clarke shakes her head. Looks down.

“I guess the timing wasn’t quite right.”

“Yeah.”

The girls look at each other, Clarke’s blue eyes glistening slightly.

“Goodbye, Clarke.”

“Take care, Lexa.”

And Lexa is out the door. And Clarke is locking the door behind her. And Lexa is never going to see Clarke Griffin again, kiss Clarke Griffin again, hug Clarke Griffin, talk to her on the phone, text her, hold her. If she does see her, it’ll be a chance encounter at the Ark. It’ll be a nod hello, how are you, and moving on with their day.

_My fault. It’s my fault._

_-_

Her head is spinning by the time she gets to the elevator. She pushes the down button, looking up at the ceiling, tears swimming in her eyes.

The elevator dings, and opens.

“Lexa?”

Lexa looks down to see Raven Reyes in the elevator.

 _As if this shit couldn’t get any worse._ Raven shows up. Raven is standing in the elevator in front of Lexa. Raven steps out, faces her. The elevator closes behind her. Raven clears her throat.

_Fuck, fucking fuck double fuck, absolute f—_

“Nice of you to show up,” Raven says, eyebrow quirked. Lexa says nothing, just nods and looks down.

Raven crosses her arms. “Gonna cut to the chase, because I need to say something.”

“Look, Clarke already —“

“She liked you. She liked you _a lot_. First I’ve seen her open up like that to someone like she did with you, even with her ex, even with me. She started opening up to more of us at the station, too. She liked you. And you fucked it. She was so upset. She called me that morning, I haven’t seen her that upset in forever. You messed up. You know that?”

Lexa feels a flash of anger, a flash of sadness and heartbreak, all at the same time.

“I do, yes.”

Raven nods. “You guys might go your separate ways, but the thing is — Clarke’s soft. Too nice. Forgives too easily,” Raven says. “Which is why you need to stay away from her. Figure out your shit.”

Lexa doesn’t make eye contact as she nods, but Raven continues as if to drive her point home. As if Clarke hadn’t done it enough.

“She might forgive you if you text her enough and show up here and apologize enough. She really might. I wouldn’t be surprised. Clarke has trouble opening up, sure, but she forgives easily because she believes in the best of everyone. So yeah, she might forgive you. Accept you back. Whether you deserve it or not. She might accept you, but I never will,” Raven says, stepping slightly towards Lexa, and Lexa is reminded of their first encounter at the station, Raven’s passive-aggressive remarks.

“ _See you around_ , doctor,” Raven says, an echo of Lexa’s text to Clarke, and Lexa can only watch her leave, stunned, and Raven turns the corner and is gone, the faint sound of a door knocking ringing through the halls.

Lexa presses the down button again and waits approximately 2 seconds before opting for the stairs.

-

When Lexa gets home, she finds herself gravitating towards the bar cart. But instead of pouring herself a nightcap, she takes a bottle of whiskey. Grabs it by the neck. Throws it against her wall. The glass shatters satisfyingly into pieces, the sound resonating inside of her ears, and suddenly, her nose is hit with the scent of its contents.

She pulls her phone out of her pocket, her favorite contacts in her iPhone, hits Anya’s name. Anya picks up on the first ring.

“Lexa?”

“Ple — please come,” Lexa sobs into the phone. “I need help. God, I need help.”

“Okay, breathe. I’ll be there in 15, breathe.”

* * *

**6 months later**

They’re not what Lexa thought they would be like, the meetings. Some were, but some weren’t. There were the odd meetings where it’d take place in a classically worn-out church rec room, old plastic folding chairs laid out in a circle. Terrible coffee. Old chocolates. Just like in the movies. Grizzled men who couldn’t go past their three month chips, but kept coming anyway so they could see their kids. Suburban women who felt like their lives ended the moment they had children. And Lexa couldn’t help but feel horrible, horrible guilt at the thought that her problems weren’t even a quarter as difficult as the people who would sit with her.

But, she learned. She persisted. Anya came with her to a few meetings to bolster her social anxiety. They tested the waters at each meeting, see if Lexa liked the people, the lead member, and finally found one that she settled into nicely. She’s been attending this one for three months, now. Lexa is five months sober as of yesterday.

She has not spoken with Clarke Griffin in six months. Not really, anyway, unless you count a run-in on the walk from her car to the ER just over a month ago.

-

_“Lexa?”_

_Lexa looks up from her phone to see blonde hair and a navy blue ARK PARAMEDIC jacket in front of her. Clarke’s holding a coffee cup in one hand, car keys in the other._

_Her first instinct, involuntary, is a smile breaking out on her face. Her second is to go in for a hug, but she remains still, and relaxes her face a bit._ Play it cool, Woods.

_“Clarke. It’s so good to see you.” Lexa puts her phone away and has her arms swing rather uselessly at her side before deciding to tuck them into her pockets._

_“Oh, don’t be like that,” Clarke says, chuckling nervously and half-opening her arms, her keys making little clinking noises. “It’s really good to see you, too.”_

_Lexa laughs, stepping forward into Clarke’s arms, and wraps her own around Clarke’s shoulders._

_They stand like that for a moment, holding each other, and Lexa could swear she can hear Clarke inhale deeply, like she’s centring herself. She’s missed this. She’s missed Clarke. She really, really has._

_They pull back, Clarke’s hands lingering on Lexa’s before she slides away. And Lexa didn’t quite realize how much she was missing Clarke, holding Clarke, until she got the chance to do so for the first time in nearly five months._

_“How’s it all going with, uh — how’s it going with the station?” Lexa asks, and she wonders if Clarke feels the same as she does; uncomfortable, like she wants to take Clarke into her arms but can’t, like they’re long-lost lovers._

Shut up, Lexa, you only dated her for three months. Hooked up with? Fucked? Whatever. It doesn’t matter.

_“Good, same as usual, really, but I’ve been working a bit less,” Clarke says, taking a sip from her coffee. Lexa wonders if she still drinks the shitty station-provided coffee at work, or if buying herself coffee is a new habit. “New recruit in our station, so I’ve finally gotten the chance to sort of not let work take over my entire life and being.”_

_“That’s — that’s really great, Clarke.” Lexa runs a hand through her hair nervously. “I know you were feeling like your work-life balance wasn’t optimal for you.”_

_“Yeah,” Clarke says, an almost curious look in her eyes. “How about you?”_

_“Yeah, fine,” Lexa says. And she almost says it, but she doesn’t, because she’s certain Clarke doesn’t want to know:_ I’m sober now. I’m doing better. I’m on track to be better. Let’s grab a coffee, and not a drink, because I’m sober now. _“Same old.”_

_“Right.” Clarke looks down at her feet, then back up at Lexa, taking a breath. “Well, I should get in before Raven calls 911 to report me as a missing person.”_

_Lexa lets out a short laugh that dies off as soon as she remembers the last interaction she had with Raven Reyes. “Yeah, I’d better get going, too.”_

_They stand there, looking at each other for a moment, and Lexa’s about to nod and keep walking when —_

_“I think of you a lot, Lexa. I really hope you’re doing okay.”_

_Lexa’s caught off guard and can only think to stand with her lips parted in surprise as Clarke breezes past her._

_She looks behind her to watch Clarke walk away._

_Clarke looks back at Lexa as she walks. She smiles, small, but it’s there, and turns back._

_Lexa swallows the lump that she didn’t know was building in her throat and continues on with her day._

_-_

Opening up to Clarke had broken open the floodgates for Lexa in a way that she never would have expected. She finds herself enjoying memories of Costia with Lincoln and Anya when they have dinner together instead of receding into herself. She finds herself speaking candidly of her guilt and how she feels responsible for Costia’s death at her meetings, in therapy. She speaks freely, and every time she does, she feels a tiny fraction of her brain forgiving herself each time.

-

Lexa’s just had a particularly hard meeting where the members spoke of their personal losses that they believed were a result, whether indirect or not, of their alcoholism. Currently, she’s enjoying a cigarette outside, leaning against the concrete box with nothing but soil inside of it. She’s assuming at at some point, the recreation centre wanted to put plants in it, but it fell to the wayside. It’s littered with old crumbled soda cans, beer cans, and cigarette butts, now.

A gruff voice sounds from behind her. “Mind if I join?”

Lexa turns to see Ryder stepping towards her, and she nods, smiling. Ryder Johnson’s been sober for 15 years and has been a pillar of support for Lexa through these months. An unofficial sponsor, in his own way.

Ryder lights a cigarette of his own and leans on the concrete box beside Lexa.

“Tough one today, hey?”

Lexa hums in agreement. “They all are in their own way, I guess.”

“Yeah.”

The two stand in silence, just enjoying each others’ company, nodding goodbye to stragglers from the meeting, and Ryder is speaking again.

“Would you mind if we talked about what you told us in there? I have some thoughts.”

“Not at all. Let’s walk?”

-

They take a lap around the park nearby, the sun starting to set. There’s a man throwing a frisbee for his golden retriever and Lexa would be damned if she didn’t immediately start thinking of Clarke and Toby — specifically, Toby’s absolute refusal to play fetch unless it’s on his own terms.

“When I lost Sarah, I thought I would never see redemption,” Ryder says, kicking a rock out of the gravel path they walk on.

Sarah. Ryder’s ex-wife, who’d died on her way to a friend’s house. A freak accident involving icy sidewalks and a bad fall. Beautiful, a pianist, mother of a daughter Ryder hasn’t seen in almost two decades.

He had been supposed to drive her there. She could walk, but it was too cold, so she'd asked Ryder to drop her off. Ryder then ended up drinking too much to drive, and she had to walk.

The parallels were shocking when he first told Lexa and the rest of the meeting about her. An argument before she left. Ryder voicing regrets about their marriage. No chance for forgiveness, no chance to make things right. Ryder had spiralled even further into his alcohol abuse after she died — even serving some time for getting into a drunken bar fight and knocking a man’s teeth out.

“When you told us about your past with Costia, and how you feel like you’re not allowed to love again, or to have someone love you again, it reminded me of that.”

Lexa swallows, nodding, unsure of where this is going.

“But I need you to know that there is always a chance at redemption. Particularly when you’re this motivated to change. And redemption doesn’t mean forgiveness; Costia obviously can’t forgive you from beyond the grave, and the girl you hurt —“

“Clarke.”

“Clarke. She might not forgive you when you _are_ ready to try to make your amends, but that’s just life. That’s up to her to decide. And if she doesn’t forgive you, it doesn’t mean that you can’t redeem yourself. Redemption, to me, means deciding to be better for yourself, and for the people you love. Not directly getting forgiveness from them. It’s deciding to treat the future people in your life better. Deciding to treat yourself better.”

Lexa finds her eyes welling with tears, biting the inside of her cheek to keep them from overflowing.

“I’m happily re-married now, you know that. Mei brings a light to my life that I never thought I’d find again. And she knows about every part of me; what happened with Sarah, me serving time, all of it. And I love her, but there was a lot of work that went into getting to a point where I felt like I could forgive myself enough to be with her. Part of that was because Jenna never forgave me. And I miss my girl so, so much, but part of redemption means respecting boundaries. Respecting that forgiveness is up to them.”

Lexa sniffles and nods, tears starting to trickle down her cheeks. “I don’t want to be 60 years old and still hating myself,” she says, and Ryder stops.

“Here, sit,” he says, gesturing towards one of the benches lining the path. They settle in, and Lexa wipes her eyes.

“People make bad mistakes. Bad decisions. But it doesn’t mean they’re bad people,” he says, leaning back. “And you, Lexa, are certainly not a bad person.”

Lexa lets out a watery chuckle, nodding. “Thank you, Ryder.”

“And who knows? Maybe Clarke will forgive you. But that doesn’t matter, right now. Dating doesn’t matter, really. We all get lonely, but, if you don’t mind me saying, you are a presence of a young woman. So smart. You remind me so much of my daughter. People gravitate towards people like you and her.”

A pang of fondness pokes at Lexa’s chest as she sniffles. “I don’t mind at all. Thank you.”

“You’ll be okay, eventually. Finding someone would be nice, but you don’t need that to be whole. What matters is getting to a point where you think you’ll be okay, and you’ll find that redemption. Even if your sister and Lincoln say that Costia would have forgiven you, and you don’t believe that she would. Even if Clarke doesn’t forgive you. Hell, even if Clarke _does_ forgive you, and you start feeling guilty for moving on from Costia.”

And Lexa considers this. She considers a world in which she apologizes to Clarke, asks her for another chance, and Clarke says no, once again. And she knows her heart would break all over again.

Clarke Griffin. Her gravitational pull. Lexa used to think that love was someone knowing her instantly, but it feels silly to think about, now. She thinks that love is wanting to know more and more, always learning. To her, love is never wanting to know everything about someone. And she feels as though she had entire worlds to learn from Clarke. The way Clarke looked at her their last night in Clarke’s bed has been seared into Lexa’s mind for six months, now.

She’s long past berating herself for feeling so strongly about a women she’d known for all of three months. Long, long past it.

Ryder lets out an exhale beside her. “Beautiful night. I think I’ll walk some more.”

“Sounds good. I’m going to head home, Anya’s expecting me for dinner.” Lexa rises from the bench, brushing a leaf that had somehow fallen onto her sweater. “I’ll see you next week?”

“Have a good one. And Lexa?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re good. You’re a good person.”

Lexa smiles back at him fondly, placing a hand on his broad shoulder before leaving.

“Thank you, Ryder.”

-

Lexa sits in her car for a few moments, processing her conversation with Ryder. Google Maps says it’ll take her 16 minutes to get to Anya’s apartment. Light traffic.

She wonders how much longer her life will feel torn clean apart. No, not clean. Dirty. Like a tornado. Dirty, mean, inconvenient to repair. But maybe even the tornado doesn’t mean anything. Maybe the few blocks that are spared include the house that she lives in.

Lexa begins to drive, Ryder’s words on her mind, Anya, Lincoln, Madi, Costia, Gus, the patients she’s tried and failed to save, Clarke, _Clarke, Clarke._

Red light. Stop.

Maybe she is worthy of redemption. Forgiveness. Maybe the things she’s done to others may not be forgivable, but she can do her best to make up for it for the rest of her life in ways that don’t involve her wallowing in her own guilt. Maybe she can do it.

Green light. Go.

She can do it. She can work towards redemption. Lexa’s certain of it as she eases her foot onto the accelerator.

Lexa hears it and sees it before she feels it. A frantic honking noise coming from behind her. Bright lights to her left.

“What—”

-

There is a moment where time seems to extend further than Lexa’s own cognizance of it.

The first thing she registers is the deafening noise. A cacophony of sounds that aren’t familiar to her. The cracking of glass, but amplified in ways that aren’t like a shattered glass of water or wine on the hardwood of her kitchen floor. The sound of metal crunching, but in a way that sounds less like a soda can being crushed and more like she’s put her ear right up against one of those giant hydraulic-powered machines that compress cars into impossibly small cubes. The involuntary grunt she lets out of her chest.

The second thing she registers is her body being thrown sideways, the seatbelt pinching against her waist, something pushing against her with force. Her car is still moving in a direction she can’t discern, rolling her upside down and back upright again. Another hard knock of pressure against her. _Airbag._ Lexa’s arms start flailing wildly, trying to find something to hold onto, her body and brain aren’t communicating — body is saying _grab on to something, you’re falling,_ her brain is —

Her brain finally catches up. She registers the third thing. The pain. The car finally, _finally_ stops its rolling, landing on its right side, and Lexa hangs limp in the driver’s seat, breath knocked out of her. Searing pain emanates from her chest, her left leg, her head. Searing. Lexa is hot. Lexa is so, so hot.

It’s dark. Why is it dark? _Have I died?_ And Lexa realizes her eyes have been squeezed shut the entire time. She opens them and only sees the white of the airbag, what looks like blood, dark spots in her vision.

She can swear she hears voices, but that’s impossible. She’s alone in her car. She didn’t have anyone in the car with her. Who is speaking to her?

_Don’t move her, don’t move her, she might have injured her spine, I read you shouldn’t move people who’ve just gotten into accidents —_

_Oh my god, oh my god, are you okay? Ma’am, are you alright? Someone call —_

_I’m calling 911 —_

_Holy fuck. Okay. Here. Take my hand. It’s going to be okay. We’ll get you out soon —_

There’s a hand touching her shoulder. Lexa doesn’t look to her left. Gravity forces her to remain limp. Her right hand droops from the middle console and hangs uselessly. She registers blood on her hands. So much blood. She needs to wash it off. Does she have a surgery coming up? Is she going to be late?

It could be hours that pass, days, Lexa doesn’t know. She’s not sure if she can even feel the pain anymore. She feels like how she usually does when she’s just barely woken up in the middle of the night, woken up by a strange dream, a strange sound outside. Distant. Drifting. Lexa knows she’s real, but isn’t sure if she can say the same for anything else.

Red lights.

_Get the jaws of life, the spreader — she’s still awake — confirming car door is locked —_

That god-awful sound of metal creaking, once again. A sudden burst of cold air coming in on her left. Have they torn the door of her car off? That’s going to be expensive to fix.

_Ma’am? Ma’am, can you hear me?_

_Yes. Yes, I can hear you._

_Car’s stabilized, Mike._

_Alright. She’s unresponsive so far. ETA on the EMTs?_

_I’m okay, I can hear you._

_Ma’am, if you can hear me, try to squeeze my fingers, here._

Lexa has to focus her energy from drifting into the feeling of a large, gloved hand between her left hand, still hanging. She squeezes once. Twice.

She tries not to fall back asleep.

This is not a strange dream. 

She tries not to let the dark spots swallow her whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it really a hospital AU if there isn't a dramatic car accident? anyway, spoiler alert, i am not jason rothenberg and lexa does not die, i absolutely frickin promise. 
> 
> until next time. again, pls don't be mad at me. or lexa. we're all just trying our best out here.


End file.
